Hold Me Down
by Kittenshift17
Summary: Hermione Granger finds herself pregnant and marked as belonging to Fenrir Greyback following an unfortunate encounter with him in the Forbidden Forest after the Battle of Hogwarts. Faced with the knowledge that keeping the child may tie her to Greyback for life, but struggling with her own conscience, she must decide the fate of the child in her womb and by extension, her own fate.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Sparked by an anonymous submission of a "First Line" challenge sent to me on Tumblr. I hope you like it.**

 **xx-Kitten.**

* * *

 **Hold Me Down**

 _By Kittenshift17_

* * *

 **Chapter One**

* * *

"A very difficult situation," she agreed, nervously fiddling with the tassels on her cushion as her gaze bounced back-and-forth between the eyes of the beseeching medic and the menacing bottle of questionable liquid.

Hermione bit her lip, eyeing the bottle worriedly. She knew she should drink it; she knew she should just get it over with and put this all behind her; forget it ever happened and never tell another living soul.

"Miss Granger," the medi-witch said quietly. "I understand your reservations, but if what you've told me about the situation is true, it would very much in be your best interests to drink the potion, end the pregnancy, and try to forget all of this."

Hermione knew she was right. After all, carrying the unborn child of Fenrir Greyback was not at all what one might consider to be a very bright decision, particularly because Hermione had had no say in the conception of the child festering in her womb. She wanted it out of her. She couldn't bear the thought of Greyback hunting her down - as he'd promised he would just as soon as his 'pup' was born.

"I...just..." Hermione bit her lip, tears filling her eyes. None of her friends knew she was at St Mungo's, haunting the maternity ward. None of them even knew she was pregnant. They didn't know what Greyback had done to her when he'd caught her in the forest following the battle while she'd been searching for survivors, searching for hiding criminals who needed to be brought to justice, searching for the bodies of those who'd laid down their lives in battle.

They didn't know about how he'd stepped out of the trees, clawed hands closing over her delicate wrists, his superior strength overpowering hers far too easily. They didn't know what he'd done to her when he'd shoved her up against that tree, scraping her cheek against the bark, one enormous paw clamped over her mouth to muffle her screams, the other hand shredding her jeans.

None of her friends knew she was pregnant. She hadn't told them. She couldn't bear to. She didn't want to see the pity and the horror in their eyes.

"Miss Granger," the medi-witch said sternly. "The dangers of carrying a lycanthropy infected child to term are numerous. You could very well die if you try to keep this baby."

"It's not genetic," Hermione shook her head, knowing enough to know it was possible for a werewolf to sire a child without infecting the baby. A bite was needed to spark the infection.

"The full-blown curse isn't, no," the medi-witch huffed. "But there can be no denying that the genetic make-up of a child conceived of a werewolf's essence is far removed from that of a regular wizarding child. They are… savage as they grow. The health risks you face if you keep this baby are beyond imagining. Some of the mothers who've carried such children have had their wombs shredded when the baby is ready to born. Others experience the same symptoms as lycanthropes at the full moon, enduring the foul moods, the sickness, the raging libido, all of the wretched things werewolves face."

"But I…" Hermione said, eyeing the phial of potion worriedly. "It's not the baby's fault that his father is a monster. I could… raise him to be decent."

"Miss Granger, the abomination festering in your womb will be shunned by society. Some witches have been known to give birth to terrible, demonic half-wolf, half-human creatures when they carry such children. Drink the potion!"

Hermione recoiled from the woman violently, her eyes widening in horror not only because Hermione was sure that what she was describing wasn't true, but because this woman was a bigot. A flaming one if the twitch in her left eye and the disgust morphing her features was to be believed. She couldn't stand the thought of a half-werewolf baby being born.

"I can't," Hermione said firmly, her resolve snapping into place.

She rose to her feet quickly, pulling her wand.

"You have to!" the medi-witch snarled, advancing on her and trying to tip the potion into Hermione's mouth.

Hermione clamped her lips closed, struggling with the other woman.

"I won't," she snarled at the medic, shoving her across the room with more strength than she knew she had.

"You must!" the medic replied. "That mark on the back of your neck is proof that if your carry this abomination to term, you will be saddled with the werewolf who conceived him for the rest of your life!"

"What mark?" Hermione frowned, putting her hand to the back of her neck, some of the fight draining out of her in her shock.

"That mark!" the witch pointed toward a mirror on the wall behind Hermione.

Hermione looked over her shoulder, her eyes widening when she spied a black mark like a tattoo in the shape of a crescent moon adorning the back of her neck right at the top of her shoulders. Hermione paled at the sight of it.

"Where did that come from?" she asked, staring at the medic in confusion.

"From the werewolf who raped you, you little fool!" she snapped. "He marked you as his witch – his _mate_! If you don't abort the child, the mark will remain, and you'll be stuck with him for the rest of your life. No one else will ever be able to sire your children."

Hermione felt sick at the very thought, her eyes wide as she stared at the witch. What if it was true? She couldn't stand to be stuck with Greyback for the rest of her life.

But what if it wasn't? This woman had proved herself a bigot. She might say just about anything to prevent her from leaving that room whilst still pregnant.

"I've never heard of that," Hermione said, backing toward the door.

"Of course, you haven't. Werewolves keep it quiet, lest they be found out forcing women to tie themselves to them! Filthy half-breed monsters, all of them! You don't want to be saddled with this one, Miss Granger. You _know_ what a wretch he is."

"I…." Hermione shook her head. "I can't. I can't do it. I want to research this for myself, first."

"No!" the medic snarled, lunging for her.

She wasn't quick enough. Hermione hit the woman with a Stunning spell before flinging open the door to her examination room and dashing out into the hall. She ran for it down the corridor, intent on getting to the apparation point. She was so intent on escaping, adrenaline fueling her system, that she didn't even see the shadow of darkness with glowing yellow eyes and sharp teeth that peeled himself off the wall of the waiting room and strode after her.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Two chapters in two days! Wooohoooo!**

 ***clears throat***

 **So, your excitement over this one spurred mine alone, and now there's a second chapter right out the gate. I hope you like it. I'm having a lot of fun writing Hermione and Fenrir. Thanks for all the love.**

 **xx-Kitten.**

* * *

 **Hold Me Down**

 _By Kittenshift17_

* * *

 **Chapter Two**

* * *

The whole way home, Hermione fumed about the way the medic had treated her. How dare that awful woman use her own prejudices to influence Hermione's decision? As though considering abortion wasn't already hard enough, that woman was in there spreading lies and paranoia about lycanthropy just to force women into terminating pregnancies where the father was a werewolf? What kind of monsters were St Mungo's hiring that this woman still had a job?

The answer hit her as she stepped across the wards surrounding the little cottage she'd purchased with her reward money following the end of the war. It had only been a few weeks – she wasn't even three months along in her pregnancy, just yet – but Hermione had known that she needed to get her own place and be alone for a little while.

The woman still had a job because girls like Hermione went to her, pregnant, scared, potentially having been raped, as she had, and that woman scared them all to death with stories of shredded wombs and abominations and forced mate-ships. She'd bet that any other girls like her who went to that medi-witch quietly accepted their potion, terminated their pregnancies, and got on with their lives. She'd bet they were all grateful, rather than disgusted. Horrified by the thought, Hermione supposed that the others who were like her and ran in the face of such bigotry would probably keep their mouths shut about the woman's behavior to avoid drawing attention to their situation.

She knew she should've reported what Greyback had done to her, but she hadn't. When he'd finished with her in the forest that day, leaving her crumpled and broken, bloody and sticky at the base of the tree too sore and too shocked to cry out for help, he'd zipped up his fly, ruffled her hair, promised he'd be back to claim his cub in nine months, and then run for it. She'd pulled herself together after what felt like hours, realizing instantly that the very last thing she needed on the tail end of a war was to spark more fury by reporting what had happened, or telling even her closest friends what the monster had done to her.

No one knew she was pregnant, except the medi-witch. And Greyback, she supposed. Hermione _knew_ he'd been keeping tabs on her. She hadn't spent months and months on the run without attaining the ability to spot a tail when she picked one up. He'd followed her whenever she'd left the Burrow after the battle, knowing the most likely place to find her.

He never approached. Never leered at her or tried to hurt her or even to come close enough that she could make out his features, but she knew it was him and she knew he was watching her. It was why she'd moved. She'd needed to go somewhere that he wouldn't be able to find her. She hated that hunted feeling that crawled under the collar of her shirt and Hermione frowned, recalling what the medi-witch had said about the mark on the back of her neck. She didn't know how he'd done that. She'd never see a mark like it before, and Hermione hurried into her cottage – resetting the wards to fry anyone who dared try to cross the threshold.

Hermione wished Remus was still alive so she could ask him about a mark like this one. She'd never read about it anywhere and she sighed as she entered her kitchen, putting the kettle on and supposing she was going to have to get researching. She was early enough along in the pregnancy that she could still change her mind and terminate, but she wanted to do her research first, and she wanted to make sure she knew just what she was getting herself into if she decided to keep it.

She knew that the biggest reason she was considering termination was fear. And she hated herself a little for that. What Greyback had done to her was unforgivable, and knowing he was still hunting her and planned to come back when the baby was born was terrifying. The idea of telling Harry and the Weasley's was terrifying, too. She didn't want to see the pity on their faces when she told them she'd been raped. She and Ron had already had a fight over her wanting to move out and not asking him to join them.

He didn't understand that she couldn't handle being touched anymore. He didn't understand that when he got upset and raised his voice, she got scared. He didn't understand that having someone come up behind her now was utterly terrifying. Worse, she could imagine their horror and the pressure she would face from them if she confessed that she was pregnant with the spawn of Fenrir Greyback. After what he'd done to Bill, and to Remus, and to countless others, Hermione didn't imagine they would be welcoming of a child he'd sired, even if the other half was all her.

Smoothing her hand over her abdomen even though she was far from beginning to show, Hermione closed her eyes, trying to think, trying to figure out what the right thing to do might be.

"A nice cup of tea fixes everything," she muttered to herself, reciting her mother's favourite saying whenever she was upset about something.

She couldn't cry, no matter how badly she might want to. She hadn't cried since he'd raped her. She'd been too shocked. She was supposed to be the smart girl. The brave girl. The proud, strong, fierce Gryffindor who marched into battle alongside Harry Potter and who faced her fears and conquered her demons. She was supposed to be untouchable.

She was supposed to be anything _but_ a victim.

And that was exactly what he'd made her into. A victim of sexual abuse. Little more than a breakable toy he'd manhandled and broken and used for his own gains. Hermione _hated_ him for that. She hated that no matter her intelligence, and no matter her magical power, and no matter her strength, he'd overpowered her and used her like she was nothing more than a warm hole to fuck.

She hated that being clever and being magically gifted had meant nothing in the face of raging, lycanthropic aggression and lust. She hated how easily he'd pinned her to that tree and she hated the way she could still hear the sound of denim shredding as it rung in her ears. She could still feel the way her waistband had cut into her stomach before the fabric had given way under his sharp claws. She hated the way she could still feel the horror and terror that had swept through her when he'd shoved the denim down to her knees before bending her body outward, his arm around her middle canting her hips just so.

She hated the way she could still feel the terrible, ripping agony inside her when he'd forced a much too large appendage into a much too tight and too dry a passage. She hated that every night when she went to sleep, she relived what he'd done to her. She could still feel it, some days. She could still feel his unforgiving hand on the back of her neck, claws prickling her skin as he mashed her cheek against the trunk of the tree. She could still feel his much larger and more powerful body curled around hers when he'd violated her, his pelvic bone slapping against her bum and the hairs on his stomach and his bare chest tickling her back where her shirt had ridden up.

She could still feel the sting of his claws when he'd burrowed a hand between her legs, tormenting her clitoris as he ravaged her, intent on bringing her pleasure to ensure her horror and her shame were absolute. Closing her eyes, Hermione clenched her teeth, trying to push the memories back.

She just wanted to forget. If she trusted herself to do it, and if she weren't pregnant, she'd have modified her own memory to forget what the monster had done to her that day. Hermione's hands shook as the kettle boiled and she was able to pour herself a cup of tea.

"Enough!" she scolded herself when she spilled a few drops thanks to the tremors in her hands. "I'm stronger than this and it's time I acted like it."

If anyone could see her, she was sure she'd sound more than a little unhinged, but one of the appeals of the cottage she'd bought was that no one _could_ see her. Mr and Mrs Weasley had been baffled that she'd moved out so quickly, and Ron had been hurt and confused when she'd told him they couldn't be romantically involved anymore. Even Harry had been concerned that she didn't want to move in with him at Grimmauld Place until they could figure something else out.

She just couldn't do it. Any of it. She needed her own space, and she'd found this tiny cottage on the market for far less than it was worth thanks to some horrors that had occurred here during the war. A wizarding family had lived here before the war, but they'd been on Voldemort's bad side and had paid for that fact with their lives. It was only a small cottage with just two bedrooms, a tiny bathroom and not all that much space, but Hermione rather liked it. She hardly needed much space, and she preferred knowing that she could hear it if there was anyone else in the house. It was cramped. Tiny. Even a bit too small, if she was being completely honest, but she liked it.

When she'd made herself a cup of tea, Hermione took slow, controlled breaths, pushing the bad memories back and focusing on the problem at hand. The baby festering in her womb. She needed to do research. She'd already been looking into werewolves and pregnancy a little since the attack, but it seemed she would have to step up her research to better equip herself with all the facts before she thought about confessing her condition to her friends or returning to the hospital to terminate the pregnancy altogether.

Picking up one of the boxes she'd asked Andromeda Tonks if she could have – the one full of the books Remus had insisted on buying to arm himself with knowledge about siring a child when he was a werewolf – Hermione opened it and began to read. She became quickly engrossed, managing to ignore the prickle at the back of her neck that suggested she wasn't as alone as she might like.

 **~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~**

Fenrir Greyback watched from the shadows of the small forest that backed up to Granger's cottage, listening to the sounds she made as she tried to keep her head. He knew what he'd done to her had been unforgivable to her human mind, and he didn't entirely blame her for considering termination of the pup he'd planted in her womb. Oh, he'd have stopped her before she could drink the potion and kill his pup, but he didn't blame her for considering it.

He'd been rougher than he'd intended when he'd jumped her in the woods that day a few weeks ago, but he couldn't be blamed. It had been just a week before the full moon, and she'd been fertile and ready to be mated. His wolf had gotten the better of him and rutted her before he could even fully think through the urge to fuck her. Tipping his head back, Fenrir peered at the sky, watching as it began to darken. She'd spent most of the afternoon researching after what that prejudiced scrag at the hospital had said about just what Granger might give birth to in a little over seven months.

It was getting dark now, and he watched her pull the curtains closed inside her little cottage. The moon was rising, almost full again, and Fenrir knew he would need to cross her threshold again soon. She'd evaded him for a little over a week when she'd abandoned the Weasley hovel and purchased this place. He'd been hard pressed finding her for a short time, and he hadn't like that one little bit.

Ever since the day in Malfoy Manor when Lestrange had tortured the little witch and promised him her could have her, Fenrir had been intrigued. He couldn't say why. He didn't know. All he knew was that she smelled good and his dick got hard every time he caught a whiff of her.

She narrowed her eyes when she stood at the kitchen sink, peering through the window and intent on closing it. Fenrir realized she'd spotted him, and he drew a deep breath in through his lungs, scenting her anger and her fear. His cock stirred in the dirty jeans he'd been wearing for weeks. He didn't move, holding her gaze and staring right back at her.

He knew she'd seen him watching her before, and despite her fear and her flight to this new dwelling, she didn't seem interested in doing anything else. She never tried to confront him. Never mentioned his presence. But she was aware of it. He knew that. Even when her friends were oblivious, his little witch was aware of his presence.

Maybe she trusted her wards, Fenrir mused when she narrowed her eyes to slits and pulled her lips back from her teeth in a silent snarl like she was as much a werewolf as him. Maybe she felt safe inside her home, thinking he couldn't cross the wards and wouldn't be able to get her. Maybe she believed he wasn't going to bother her until his pup was born. Maybe she was braver than he'd thought. Fenrir didn't know.

Smirking just a little in return to her aggressive display, Fenrir stepped back into the tree line until he knew her weak human eyes wouldn't be able to pick him out of the darkness anymore. He didn't want to scare her into moving again. He didn't want her to think she needed to run. Running would be the very worst thing she could do, and he didn't want to push her to that.

He didn't want to spook her. She was going to need him soon, after all. She was carrying his cub inside her womb and she would need his cock and need his hot hands trailing over her flesh before the next full moon could rise. But Fenrir Greyback was nothing if not a patient hunter. He would wait until she was ready. He would wait until the dreams started waking her in the night, needy and wet for more of his cock. Until then, he was content to watch and to make sure she didn't try anything as foolhardy as attempting to expel his cub from her womb.

He watched from the darkness as she squinted into the trees, obviously doubting he'd left and Fenrir chuckled when she huffed loudly before yanking the curtains closed and sequestering herself away inside beyond his gaze. Shaking his head, he cocked one ear in the direction of the house, listening to the hammer of her heart before hearing the Floo network roar to life.

"Harry?" she called through the fireplace and Fenrir stalked to the edge of her wards again. "Harry? Are you there?"

"Hermione?" he heard Potter's voice respond after a moment.

"Are you busy?" Hermione asked, and Fenrir pressed closer to her wards, wondering if he was strong enough yet to cross them without frying.

"Not really," Harry said. "Just minding Teddy. What are you up to? Are you alright? You look spooked."

"Can you come over?" she asked. "Bring Teddy with you, please?"

Fenrir narrowed his eyes, wondering if his witch was going to confess to her friend just what he'd done to her, after all. He knew she hadn't told anyone yet, beyond the medi-witch.

"I… he doesn't like Floo travel, Hermione," Potter reminded her. "He's too young for it, yet."

"Right," Granger muttered. "Well…. Do you mind if I come over?"

Fenrir shoved against the wards, not liking the idea of his witch leaving when he had her all to himself here. If she went to Potter's, he couldn't follow and wouldn't know what she shared with Potter.

"Sure," Harry said. "I've just put dinner on. You like fish and chips, yeah?"

"Of course, I do," she said, sounding the faintest bit amused and exasperated. Fenrir almost grinned, hissing when the wards gave under his penetration.

His whole body ached and he fell to his knees as he pushed through her wards, feeling the magic sizzle over his nerve endings, making him crazy. Foolish witch. She'd found a way to keep him out for most of the month. But the impending full moon meant he was strong and more resistant to witch-magic. He smirked to himself when he looked toward her cottage from his hands and knees, intent on making the most of it now that he was inside the wards.

"Alright, I'm coming through," she said to Potter. "I'll see you in a minute."

Fenrir was on his feet and skulking toward the cabin when he heard her call out her destination before the roar of the fireplace indicated she'd gone. When he reached the back door to her cottage, Fenrir twisted the handle hard enough to break the deadbolt before pushing the door open and letting himself inside to await his witch's return.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: *scampers in***

 ***frantically searches for a spot to hide the chapter that you'll find***

 ***stuffs it into your left shoe***

 ***dashes off to hide chapters for other fics in different locales***

 **xx-Kitten**

* * *

 **Hold Me Down**

 _By Kittenshift17_

* * *

 **Chapter Three**

* * *

Fenrir took his time poking around Granger's cottage, his eyes scanning over the books scattered on her table about werewolves and pregnancy. The whole place reeked of her sweet scent, an intoxicating blend of cinnamon, lavender, and the uniquely pregnant scent of a witch carrying a half-blood werewolf. He breathed it in, feeling the restless beast under his skin relax a little. Watching her from afar for weeks had tested his self-control more than anything he could ever recall testing him this way. By Artemis, he wanted her. When he let himself into her bathroom, Fenrir couldn't resist following his nose to the basket of dirty laundry and fishing out a pair of her knickers from the hamper.

"Fuck!" Fenrir groaned when he brought the garment to his nose, breathing in her sweet scent. His cock twitched inside his jeans, springing to life as he inhaled her intoxicating scent and without thinking, Fenrir burrowed his hand into his trousers, grasping his cock and beginning to stroke it.

The heady scent of her cunt lingered on the fabric, and by the gods, he wanted to smell it clinging to his skin again. He hadn't bathed in weeks, not since he'd happened across her in the forest that day, but her scent had gone cold by now. He wanted more of it. He wanted to roll around in it, to feel it coating his skin and to smell it clinging to his fur. Stroking himself enthusiastically, Fenrir closed his eyes, relying of his sense of smell and his imagination to bring him undone.

He wanted to ravish her again. He wanted to feel the tight clench of her cunt squeezing him, enveloping him, sheathing him completely. Properly this time, too. Not like last time, when she'd been fighting and screaming and crying, trying to wriggle out of his grip. He hadn't meant to surprise her quite so much, but his wolf had been nipping at his psyche, more than a little in control of his actions. After the bloodshed of the battle, it was all he could do to remain human when he took her. Gods, he could almost still feel her clenching around him as he breathed her in, recalling the warmth of her body and the delicious feel of her pressed against him.

Fenrir cursed when he released, coating his hand in his own essence and thinking that the next time he spent his load, it would have to be inside his witch or he might go mad. Clenching his fist around her knickers, he squeezed his eyes closed for a moment before opening them and glaring at the sticky come on his palm. When he caught sight of himself in the mirror he snarled under his breath.

"Shower," he muttered to himself, but mostly to his wolf, knowing that getting himself under the spray of the shower had become a chore since he'd been bitten as a boy and gone feral with his lycanthropy.

He needed to shower. He hadn't bathed in weeks, and he probably reeked to high heaven. He could hardly ambush his witch in this state without terrifying her all the more, and the last thing he needed to do was scare her anymore than he'd already done when he mated her in the woods and knocked her up. Tossing her knickers back in the hamper after using them to wipe off his hand, Fenrir pulled his shirt off over his head and shucked himself out of his jeans. Those went into the hamper too, before he frowned at the basket, realizing he had nothing else to put on unless he washed those clothes.

He'd never really had a home, per se, and what little life he'd scraped out for himself and his pack before the Dark Lord's rise was far behind him now. He had only the clothes on his back unless he wanted to steal some more from somewhere, and he'd been so preoccupied with his witch and the pup growing within her that he'd forgotten about the need to look for survivors from his pack, or seeking out those human requirements like clothes, shelter, shoes, or warmth.

He ran hot enough as a wolf that he could survive most things, and he hunted down whatever he wanted to eat when he grew hungry enough. He'd been surviving, but as he stared at the stained and ripped clothing, Fenrir realized he'd been obsessing about this witch.

"Well," he huffed, glancing at his reflection again, the wolf peering back at him scornfully. "If she's carrying my pup, and she's this bloody enthralling, then we'd better just get used to proving the human shit, eh?"

His wolf seemed to agree and when he ran the water for the shower, waiting for it to get hot, he followed his nose across the house with the hamper of dirty laundry, locating the washing machine and setting both his and her clothes into it. He used his nose to find the washing powder, and dumped enough of it in on top of the clothes to – hopefully – remove the bloodstains, grass-stains, dirt, and foul smell from his clothing.

"How the fuck do you work?" he muttered to the machine when he'd closed it, pushing the buttons on the top and trying to figure it out.

The machine dinged at him in a funny little jingle, and Fenrir growled at it.

"Just run!" he snarled, mashing the buttons and turning one of the knobs.

The machine beeped at him in shrill protest and Fenrir stepped back, clenching his fists and fighting the urge to use his claws and his fangs to make the bloody thing cooperate.

"I know you're on, because you're making noise," he muttered, prone to talking to himself, his wolf, and whatever object he interacted with. "What about this one, eh?"

His eyes zeroed in on one of the buttons that looked like it was for selecting a cycle of the wash. He pushed it, watching it scroll through the options of types of wash.

"Heavy duty," he muttered when the option lit up. "That one. Right. You control wash speed. What about you?"

He poked another button, but that one made the machine beep shrilly at him again before it turned off.

"Nope, not you," he said, pushing it again and discovering it was the power button when it turned the machine back on. He used the cycle button to get back to the heavy duty wash before focusing on the other buttons and knobs.

"Why do you have so many options?" he muttered to the machine. "Why isn't there just a 'RUN' button to make you go?"

One of the knobs controlled hot or cold water.

"Well, which fucking one am I s'posed to use, eh?" he demanded of the machine. "I use hot water and soap to get my skin clean…. So… hot, it is. Right. Then what does this one do?"

The washing machine groaned, and Fenrir froze, narrowing his eyes before he heard water beginning to rush through the pipes.

"HA!" he laughed. "Fucking did it! Good. Right, you run, and I'll bathe."

He turned away from the machine and sauntered back across the tiny house and into the bathroom. He narrowed his eyes on the hot water pouring from the shower nozzle, his inner beast fighting him tooth and nail about the idea of getting under the spray, but he forced himself to do it, squeezing his eyes closed and shutting the door to lock himself in the box of hot and wet.

"Got to get clean," he muttered. "Can't keeping scaring the bitch. Won't be good for the pup."

His wolf didn't like the sound of scaring his pup right out of Granger, and Fenrir opened his eyes to glare at the number of products stored neatly in the basket of goodies hanging from the shower head.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," he grumbled. "What the hell's wrong with a simple bar of soap, eh?"

He scowled at the products, picking each one up and squinting at it, trying to figure out what it was. He should've known his smarty-pants little bitch would have a mountain of complicated things clogging up her house to the confuse the hell out of him.

"What are you? Soap? Shampoo? What's that say… 'Bath Milk'. What the fuck is Bath Milk?" Fenrir demanded, shaking the bottle a little in frustration before popping the cap and smelling it. "What's this one? Shampoo. Right. Good. Fucking easy."

Shoving the Bath Milk back into the basket, he opened the shampoo, tipped it upside down, and dumped a large pool of it into his hand.

"Smells like shit," he muttered to himself, his nose stinging at the scent of the chemicals in the product that they'd tried to mask with a cheap and manufactured smell of lavender. "This can't be good for her hair. No wonder it's so bloody wild."

Scrubbing the soap into his long, tangled hair, Fenrir used his nails, digging in hard against his scalp and untangling a few of the knots in the mess of hair before waiting for it to do it's cleansing job. He read the back of the bottle while he waited, frowning at the number of chemicals listed on the ingredients list. He had no idea what any of them did, but he reckoned the smell of them was enough to make him doubt they were wholly good for hair. Besides, a wolf never washed his fur with chemicals and he was still fine, right? Who needed all these extra chemicals?

When he couldn't locate anything that even vaguely resembled soap, Fenrir curled his lip and upended the bottle of bath milk. Immediately, he noticed that it gave of the same soft scent that clung to Granger's skin and Fenrir smirked, filling his palm before working the liquid to a fine lather and scrubbing it against his skin. He had to use his claws to shift some of the blood and dirt caked to his skin, not having washed since the final battle up at the school.

After what felt like hours, Fenrir clawed his way out from under the spray of hot water, twisting the taps off and shaking his body vigorously to rid his skin and hair of water. When he let himself out of the shower, he peered around the room, wondering if he should bother drying off properly with a towel. When he left a trail of wet footprints behind him and damaged the linoleum in the kitchen with his back-claws after almost slipping, Fenrir growled.

"This is why I don't bathe," he muttered, regaining his footing and retracing his steps to the bathroom.

He dragged open the small cupboard next to the shower when he smelled the scent of fabric inside it, and he fished out a fresh bath towel, using it to dry himself off – beginning with his feet.

"Well, fuck," he said when he was finished with the towel, realizing Granger was going to know he'd been helping himself to her stuff if he hung the towel up beside hers, and knowing the washing machine was already most of the way through the cycle.

"She's going to know I've been here when I pounce on her," he muttered, hanging up the towel and sauntering out of the bathroom naked, planning on investigating the rest of the house and finding out how long the washing machine had to go.

"Probably be bad form to surprise her, naked on the couch when she gets home," Fenrir laughed to himself before wandering into the kitchen and opening first the pantry and then the fridge, intent on cooking himself something to better stave off his wolf's tendency to skin his teeth into anyone and anything he came into contact with that had a pulse.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: *skulks in***

 ***Pokes the chapter under your pillow***

 ***scampers away to scatter more chapters about the house***

 **xx-Kitten.**

* * *

 **Hold Me Down**

 _By Kittenshift17_

* * *

 **Chapter Four**

* * *

Across London, Hermione Granger sat in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place eyeing the tiny form of Teddy Lupin where he laid asleep cradled in her arms. Harry had passed him to her the minute she'd arrived, only too pleased to put him down long enough to cook them both something decent to eat.

"Are you alright, Hermione?" Harry asked from across the kitchen where he was frying kippers.

"Huh?" Hermione asked, her head jerking up as she tried to focus on Harry, trying to remind herself that the tiny life festering in her womb would one day be as fragile and small as little Teddy Lupin. And just like Teddy, he would be born to a lycanthropic father.

"You've been staring at him like you're more than a little terrified, love," Harry told her, looking a little amused.

"I…" Hermione tried to speak, her voice getting stuck in her throat as it had done every time she'd tried to mention what she'd survived. "How do you do it? He's… so small."

Harry grinned.

'He's great, right?" Harry chuckled. "I love that kid."

"But… you're not even eighteen yet," she said. "Don't you want to… I don't know… find yourself without a baby in your life?"

Harry raised one eyebrow at her.

"Find myself how?" he asked seriously. "I did plenty of soul searching while we were in that bloody tent, just you and me, Hermione. I know what I want out of life."

Hermione blinked at him.

"Really?" she asked.

Harry smiled. "Yeah."

"What is it?" she asked curiously, happy for the distraction from her own morbid thoughts. "What would Harry Potter like out of life?"

"I don't want to be an Auror," he told her seriously, flipping their kippers and dumping a clump of chipped potatoes into some oil he'd been boiling on the stove. "I'm done with being a savior to the wizarding world. I'm done with dodging spells flung by Death Eaters and Dark Lords and Snatchers. I just want to be normal, you know? I want to avoid the limelight, so the press will stop hassling me every time we go to the pub. I want to marry Ginny, if she'll have me after what a twat I've been to her, and I want to raise that kid you're holding in a stable home environment. I want to teach him how to fly a broom and how to pull pranks and how to read and write and tie his shoes. Blimey, Hermione. I want to be a good godfather to him, and I want to be a dad. I want a family. I don't care about a fancy career, or anymore bloody fame. I just want a quiet life."

Hermione blinked, smiling at him gently.

"I'm sure Ginny will have you, Harry," she told him.

"And you?" he asked her.

"I won't have you," Hermione teased, grinning. "You're not really my type. Bit too wiry, you know?"

Harry laughed, rolling his eyes.

"What do you want to do, Hermione?" Harry asked, flipping the chips in their frying oil.

Hermione sighed, thinking again about the baby growing in her womb.

"Um… actually, I… well…" Hermione bit her lip, looking down at the tiny baby in her arms.

Harry set down his tongs and lowered the heat of the fish and chips before crossing the kitchen and squatting in front of her. He put his hands on her knees and Hermione tensed, reminding herself that this was Harry and that he would never hurt her.

"Hermione?" Harry asked very softly, and Hermione looked up at him, her eyes filling with tears.

He was frowning worriedly, his hands gentle on her knees.

"What's going on, love?" Harry asked. "You've been withdrawn and uncomfortable for weeks. You moved into that little cottage by yourself, and you broke up with Ron. What's happened?"

Tears trickled from her eyes to run down her cheeks.

"I… um…"

Harry waited, peering into her face earnestly.

"In the… Um…" Hermione stuttered, trying desperately to get the words out. "When I was…"

Hermione stopped, her breath labored as she tried to collect herself and Harry squeezed her knees encouragingly.

"You can tell me," he whispered. "It's me, love. You and me have been through hell and back together."

Hermione gulped, nodding as she reached out, passing Teddy toward Harry, hoping he would take the small boy from her arms before her hands could wake him with their trembling.

"In the forest," she whispered when Harry took Teddy from her arms and rose to his feet, carrying the baby across the kitchen and lowering him into the cot he'd setup there.

"What happened in the forest, Hermione?" Harry asked gently, turning back to her.

Hermione closed her eyes, her breath ragged, tears streaming down her face.

"I… when I was looking for survivors," Hermione whispered. "I… um… I found one. Or… well… he found me."

Harry took slow, measured steps as he crossed the kitchen once more, his frown intensifying.

"Who found you?" Harry whispered, spurring her on, prying the information out of her.

Hermione shook her head, pressing her fist to her mouth and trying to fight the urge she had to vomit.

"Who?" Harry urged, squatting in front of her once more and capturing her hands, pulling her hands gently away from her mouth and holding them reassuringly in his own large ones.

"Greyback," she gasped out finally, forcing the word between her teeth.

"Oh, Gods, Hermione," Harry breathed, his eyes widening behind his glasses in horror. "He didn't… gods, what did he do? Did he bite you? Merlin, it wasn't a full moon then, was it? Are you a werewolf, now? Is that why you broke up with Ron and bought that little cabin in the woods by yourself?"

"Worse," Hermione whispered. "He… he…"

She squeezed her eyes closed, trying to get a hold of herself, reminding herself that she was better than this; stronger than this.

"He what?" Harry asked, and Hermione could tell from the terrified tone in his voice that he knew. He didn't want to believe it, but he knew what Greyback had done to her.

"I'm pregnant, Harry," Hermione whispered, choking out the words that had been running through her head for weeks, ever since she'd found out.

Harry's hands tightened momentarily around hers before he went still, and she listened to the breaths he drew in, catching the way they sped up as his anger began to simmer.

"I'll kill him," Harry vowed. "He raped you? Fucking hell, Hermione! Are you alright? Merlin, look at you. Of course, you're not alright. Gods, what can I do? How can I help?

She shook her head, trying to calm herself, trying to get her emotions back under control. It was hard. These were the first tears she'd cried since it had happened.

"I… I don't know what to do, Harry," Hermione admitted softly, her voice hoarse.

"What do you mean? You don't know what to do about the baby?" he asked, and Hermione could tell he was trying to rein in his temper, knowing exploding would only make things worse.

"I went to St Mungos today. I… I thought about having an abortion," she confessed. "He… threatened me. Said he'd be back for his pup. I was going to do it…. But the woman at the hospital was so bigoted. She tried to tell me I'd give birth to a wolf-pup and that the child would shred my womb and she… she called my baby an abomination, Harry. And I thought, yeah, Greyback's a monster, but this kid is half of me, too. And she called him an abomination, Harry."

Harry frowned into her face for a moment before gently pulling her to her feet and curling his arms around her. Cuddling her from the front, his presence so close to her was non-threatening and Hermione found herself sighing out a long, slow breath of relief before burrowing her nose against his neck and breathing in his familiar scent of treacle and broom polish. This was Harry. Her Harry. The boy she'd fought alongside in a war. The boy she'd shared a cramped tent with for months while they suffered in possession of a horcrux. The boy who, on more than one occasion, she'd crawled into bed beside when it was cold, and she was scared, and the nightmares got the best of her.

He'd held her when she cried about Ron running away during the war, and he'd held her when she cried at Shell Cottage, recovering from the effects of the Cruciatus curse. He'd been the rock in her life for years and she realized as she burrowed into his supportive and warm embrace that she'd been a fool to keep all this from him for so long.

"I should've told you sooner," she said thickly through her tears. "I've been so scared, Harry."

Harry pressed a kiss to the top of her head, smoothing his hand in comforting circles over her back as he held her close.

"This is why you broke up with Ron," he said quietly.

"He won't understand," Hermione said. "He won't… I can't bear to have him or the Weasleys look at me with pity or horror, Harry. They won't understand if I decide to keep the baby. He couldn't understand why being touched scares me, now. He doesn't understand that when he yells at me, I'm frightened. He doesn't understand that when he comes up behind me, I'm right back there in the forest, my face grinding against the trunk of that tree and Greyback's claws shredding my jeans and my knickers…. He… Gods, Harry…. There was _nothing_ I could do. I tried to hex him, and the spells just bounced right off. I tried to struggle – tried to kick him and clawed at him and hit him and he didn't even seem to feel it. He just… took what he wanted."

The words just kept spilling out as she stood there with her eyes clenched closed, burrowed into the only place in the world where she felt safe. Harry let her talk, holding her snugly, letting her get all the words out now that they were finally falling off her tongue.

"He hurt you, too?" Harry asked eventually. "Did he hit you? Bite you?"

"He did this," Hermione said, pulling out of Harry's arms and twisting.

She pulled aside the neckline of her jumper to reveal the bite he'd left on the top of her right shoulder.

"And I didn't realize until the medi-witch pointed it out today, but since he r-raped me, I've got this…" she twisted a little more, letting Harry see the crescent moon on the back of her neck.

"Bloody hell, Hermione," Harry murmured, making her jump and causing her skin to crawl uncomfortably when he traced the tip of his finger over the mark. "What is it? I know Tonks had one too… caught sight of it one night when I gave her a hug… probably the last time I saw her alive, now that I think about it. I saw it, but I never thought to ask what it was. I thought it was just a tattoo, but now you've got one too, and I know you're not a fan of tattoos."

Hermione nodded.

"I hadn't even noticed it until today. The medi-witch tried to tell me it was a claiming mark. That Greyback had marked me as _his_ witch, and that if I didn't terminate the pregnancy, I'd never be able to have children with anyone other than him," Hermione said. "And it scared me, but I've never heard of anything like it or read anything about it and, Harry, she called my baby an _abomination_. What if everything she said was just flaming bigotry? What if it wasn't and I might be stuck carrying his spawn, alone? Worse… what will he do to me if I _do_ try to terminate the pregnancy. He found my cottage. He was there today. Standing in the woods, watching me. I _know_ he's been stalking me since that day in the forest."

"He's stalking you?" Harry said, holding up his hand to stop the torrent of words pouring out of her mouth, looking concerned.

Hermione blinked at him for a moment.

"Yes," she said. "He never approaches. But he's been there, watching. Hiding. Checking on me. I've seen him several times since that day in the woods…. Under a tree at the perimeter of the wards when we were living at the Burrow. At the edge of the forest up at Hogwarts in the days following the battle. I wouldn't be surprised if he followed me to the hospital today, and he was there at the edge of my wards in the woods behind my house today. It will only be a matter of time before he tries to penetrate them. He's a werewolf, after all. He can survive a direct hit from a Killing curse. He's already done it once when I threw one at him during the battle when he killed Lavender. It slowed him down and knocked him off his feet, but he's obviously still very much alive. If he can survive that, I doubt my wards will keep him out indefinitely."

"You think he'll attack you again?" Harry asked, looking horrified. "Bloody hell, Hermione. You can't go back to the little cabin by yourself if he can get across your wards."

"I can't lure him through the wards protecting anyone else, either!" Hermione argued. "Imagine if I lived here with you? The _Fidelus_ charm might keep the location of this place a secret, but he's a werewolf, Harry. Witch-magic doesn't have the same effect on him as it does on us. He'd be able to follow his nose to find me here, if necessary. Remus warned us of that very fact when we started noticing surveillance on this place, remember? He said that if a werewolf really wanted to get in, no wards or charms would keep him out for long. And if he came here, it wouldn't just be me who was in danger, but you and Teddy, too. What about Ron? I doubt the werewolf who is _stalking_ me and who – according to the medi-witch – might very well have marked me as his _mate_ , would take kindly to my paramour. Merlin, with how close you and I are, he might take issue with you, too."

"So, then the only answer is that you terminate his kid and he'll leave you be," Harry said, frowning and looking particularly worried.

"And what would prevent him from simply jumping me and raping me all over again, Harry? If he really means for me to be his mate and carry his 'pup', then there's really not that much I can do about it, short of fleeing the country or offing myself."

"Don't you dare!" Harry hissed, narrowing his eyes on the very suggestion. "Werewolves can be killed. That much is obvious, since Remus is dead."

"Is he, though?" Hermione asked seriously, raising her eyebrows at Harry. "When I hit Greyback with that Killing curse it knocked him down and he looked like he was dead. And Remus's body disappeared following the battle. What if he's not dead? What if there really is no way to kill a werewolf? Remus confessed to me once shortly after Sirius's death that he'd tried to off himself multiple times following the death of your parents and Sirius being framed for their murder. He said he tried magical and muggle means – everything from shooting himself in the head to overdosing on every known toxic substance in the magical and muggle world. He said he tried using the Killing Curse on himself and eventually he just gave up trying to off himself when he failed so many times that failing started to amuse him."

Harry frowned, obviously not having known that about Remus.

"You really think he's alive?" Harry asked in a whisper, darting a look at the baby in the corner when Teddy began to fuss thanks to the sound of their raised voices.

Hermione didn't exactly blame him for focusing on that, despite her own dilemma.

"I wouldn't be surprised," Hermione said.

"But… what about Teddy?" Harry asked. "If he is… where is he? Why hasn't he come back for Teddy?"

Hermione felt a well of pity open up inside her when she saw how vulnerable Harry suddenly looked.

"Harry, you saw how terrified Remus was when he confessed that Tonks was pregnant. You saw how badly he wanted to run away, terrified of what it would do to the boy to be raised by a lycanthropic father. With Tonks dead, and Remus presumed dead, too, I wouldn't put it past him to abandon the child. He knows you'll raise him like your own and he probably believes Teddy would be better off without him, since he's always viewed his curse as exactly that. A shameful, horrifying curse. He thinks he's a monster. He couldn't bear knowing that people loved him, despite his lycanthropy. Would you want to inflict the type of father on your son if you thought yourself a contagious, dangerous monster to be shunned at every turn. He spent his life with few friends, no money, bouncing from job to job because he couldn't hold one for long when people figured out his condition, and literally ripped himself apart once a month to turn into a slavering monster that hunted you and I down in the forest and attacked anything that moved. Remus _hates_ himself, Harry. He wouldn't want to inflict such a person on such a child, and no amount of you or I insisting that he was wonderful would've changed his mind before he disappeared."

Harry was staring at her, looking both horrified, resigned, and determined all at once.

"We have to find him," Harry said quietly. "We _have_ to, Hermione. If Remus is alive, I _need_ to know, and I need him to come back and be a bloody father to that kid. I love the little blighter with all I've bloody got, but for fuck's sake, I _know_ what it's like to grow up without parents and I won't let any kid be raised thinking he's an orphan if he's not. I'm angry enough at Remus for leaving me with the Dursleys all those years, even knowing that he was second choice for my godfather after Sirius. H should've been there for me, and if I have to drag him back here by the fucking tail to be here for Teddy, I'll bloody do it! I know you're in a bad way and that the last thing you need is to worry about helping me find a werewolf who might very well be dead… but if you go home you risk running into Greyback, right?"

"Actually, Harry," Hermione said quietly, watching the wizard go over to the crib and scoop up the grizzling infant, a thought flitting into her head. "If Remus _is_ alive, and he ran for it during or after the battle, he'd likely have hidden in the forest for a bit, right? And I'll bet that if he did, Greyback probably knows about it."

Harry frowned at her.

"You're not thinking of _asking_ him, Hermione?" Harry asked, looking horrified when he realized what she was implying.

"I… if I really am tied to him, and he really is just going to keep hanging around, potentially impregnating me again if I terminate, or trying to hurt me or stop me if I try to have an abortion… I suppose I'm going to have to face him and figure out what he wants, Harry. My wards won't keep him out forever, and I don't want to die."

"Hermione, he's Fenrir fucking Greyback. He's a murderer. A cannibal, probably. He's a monster who infected Remus when he was just a five-year-old boy. He's infected countless others with lycanthropy, dooming them to his curse. Remus believed it was Greyback's intent to infect so many people as to overrun the wizarding population to force the wizarding world to stop treating werewolves like half-breeds. He _raped_ you, Hermione! And you want to just… ask him if he's seen Remus around lately?"

"What choice do we have, Harry? I _hate_ him for hat whe did to me and I hate the way my skin prickles knowing he's around, always lurking and watching and stalking me. I _hate_ feeling like a victim… feeling vulnerable. And anyway, I think that if he planned to hurt me, he'd have done so, by now."

"He raped you!" Harry hissed as though she needed the reminder.

"And has been stalking me since. He hasn't touched me. He… Gods, when he… in the forest… he was… almost frantic. Like he… couldn't help himself. But he… I mean, yes, he pinned me to that tree and he shredded my clothes and he forced himself on me despite how dry and terrified I was, which meant it hurt but he… Harry, he's Fenrir Greyback. He could've savaged me. He could've tried to eat me. He could've used his claws to rip my stomach open, or to slash my flesh apart. He could've bitten me so badly I wouldn't even recover. He could've hit me or kicked me or hurt me _so_ much worse than he did. He took away my right to choose, and he overpowered me and ignored my protests and went against my will, but he wasn't… cruel. He was… efficient. Like he had a job to do and he did… actually, he was like… well, like a wolf, I suppose. Like any beast in the wild coming across a female in heat, he saw his chance to further the species and he couldn't deny it."

"He bit you!" Harry argued, pointing to her shoulder where she carried the scar from his fangs.

"I think he did that to hold me still when I kept wriggling," Hermione said, frowning, never having looked at it from this perspective. She'd been so caught up in the horror of feeling like a victim and in her impotent rage at having been able to do _nothing_ to fight him off, but now that she was talking about it and thinking about it, she couldn't help but begin removing herself from the emotion of it all and looking at it logically.

"In the wild real wolves often bite the female on the back of the neck – on the ruff – to hold them still while they mate. And while everything we've been led to believe about him through the media and the stories suggests he's a lawless, cannibalistic monster, maybe they're wrong."

"You're… feeling sorry for the guy, now?" Harry asked, looked confused and angry.

"I don't feel sorry for him," Hermione held up her hand. "But if all a person knew of you or I was based on stories from others and the things published in the media, you would be a mentally unhinged drama-queen with a hero-complex, paranoia, and an ability to slay Dark Lords. If all people knew of me came from the papers, I'm nothing but a gold-digging, jumped-up little mudblood who's too smart for her own good and flings herself at famous young men for the prestige of being seen dating them. And since none of those things are true about either of us, maybe everything we've heard about Greyback is wrong, too."

"Hermione you saw him when he caught us alongside Scabior and dragged us all to Malfoy Manor," Harry said. "He was feral. Crude. Cruel. He told you then that he was going to enjoy having your writhe under him. He threatened to eat you."

Hermione frowned a little.

"He also interceded when Bellatrix planned to torture me and to hand us all over to Voldemort," Hermione said. "He tried to stop her."

"So he could keep you for himself," Harry argued.

"Look, Harry, I'm not saying I'm about to invite him into my house or crook my finger at him and have him join me in bed. I think I'd vomit if I got within three feet of him again. But what if what he did to me was born, not of malicious intent or a need to control or dominate me, but just a biological urge to mate with a female in estrus. It's clear that I was ovulating at the time, since I'm now pregnant. What if he really is just more animal than man and acted as any animal would do? More importantly, what if he _does_ know something about Remus, Harry?"

Harry looked stricken and Hermione stared back at him, reaching out and taking Teddy from his arms when he looked like he was going to lose his temper or maybe even like he might break down and cry.

"Hermione…" Harry began, frowning at her and watching her tuck the whinging baby into the crook of her arm. "He… I can't just… ask you to speak civilly with him after what he did to you?"

"Then you speak to him," Hermione said. "I have a fairly good idea of where he'll be, after all. You ask him if he knows anything about Remus and whether or not he's alive."

"And then I'll kill him for laying a paw on you," Harry muttered, looking suddenly like the idea appealed to him.

Right at that moment the front door of Grimmauld Place opened, and Hermione tensed, backing slowly toward the corner of the room like a frightened animal. Harry pulled his wand, placing himself between the intruder and Hermione while she clutched Teddy protectively. Harry lowered his wand just as quickly when Andromeda Tonks strolled into the room unwinding her scarf from around her neck.

"Harry? Hermione?" Andromeda asked. "Everything alright, my loves?"

Harry sighed, nodding his head slowly.

"Hi, Andie," he said sheepishly.

Andromeda looked over the two of them and Hermione could tell that the witch knew something was wrong.

"Your dinner is burning," Andie commented, and Harry looked toward the kippers and chips on the stove, uttering an expletive when he realized the woman was right.

"Ah, bugger," Harry muttered, hurrying over and turning the stove off. "Sorry about dinner, Hermione."

Andromeda eyed the two of them looking like she wanted to ask questions and to figure out why they'd burned dinner and why they were both so jumpy.

"It's fine," Hermione said. "Why don't we just order some take-out from down the road and have that?"

Harry nodded. "Do you want to come for a walk to order it?" he asked.

Hermione nodded.

"Andie, will you be alright watching Teddy for a few minutes?" she asked of the boy's grandmother.

"Of course I will, love," Andromeda smiled, still looking confused and concerned.

"You want anything from the fish and chip place, Andie?" Harry asked.

"Maybe some potato scallops?" Andie suggested, smiling.

Harry nodded.

"We'll be back in a bit then, yeah?"

Hermione and Harry left the house, Harry tucking Hermione's arm through his elbow for the stroll down the street and around the corner.

"I don't think you should go home tonight, Hermione," Harry said.

Hermione sighed.

"I don't think I trust Greyback not to break through my wards while I'm gone if I stay overnight, Harry," she replied.

Harry tensed.

"I'll escort you home, then," he said. "And we'll check the whole house to make sure he's not inside. And if we find him, I'll ask him about Remus, and then I'll kill the bastard."

Hermione bit her lip, nodding along with his plan even though she rather thought he'd have better luck trying to resurrect his parents than he would at killing Fenrir Greyback.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: *slinks in***

 ***pokes the chapter into your sleeve while you're sleeping***

 ***tip-toes away***

 **Mwahahaha!**

 **xx-Kitten.**

* * *

 **Hold Me Down**

 _By Kittenshift17_

* * *

 **Chapter Five**

* * *

Fenrir paced restlessly across the house, his eyes continually darting to the moon out the window on every pass, noticing the way it slowly climbed across the sky. Maybe he'd been too forward, letting her catch sight of him this afternoon. Maybe the little bitch was staying away, not daring to return home. Maybe his penetration of her wards had tipped her off, and she knew he was there and she was going to stay gone until he went looking for her.

He'd eaten his fill of what he could find in the fridge and the pantry, and he was still naked as he paced, having managed to figure out how to use the tumble dryer when the washing machine had begun its little song to announce the washing was done. He was still waiting for them to dry completely – though he was no stranger to sitting around in wet clothes – only because he didn't think his witch would appreciate it if he wetted her couch cushions sitting on them in wet clothes.

"Where the fuck are you, Granger?" he muttered as he passed the fireplace for the millionth time, still waiting for his witch to come home.

He had a terrible sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that having spotted him outside her cottage today would finally have pushed her to admit to Potter what he'd done to her. Fenrir sighed, scrubbing his hands over his face. He didn't much fancy having that little fucker invading her home and trying to drive him off. For all that he had once been a ruthless and efficient killer, Fenrir wasn't much interested in the likes of war and bloodshed, anymore. His dreams of infecting enough people to grow a pack so large that they might overthrow the Ministry had gone out the window the minute he'd gotten Hermione Granger pregnant.

Artemis, they'd gone out the window the minute the Dark Lord had slaughtered half his pack for not falling into line. Fenrir knew the snake-faced fucker had known his real agenda and had them kill each other for the simple pleasure of destroying his plans and ending his ability to stage a coup. And they were well and truly dead. The Dark Lord had known that the only way to kill a werewolf was by having their throat and heart ripped out by another werewolf. He'd ordered his pack to slaughter each other with battles to the death no better than dog fights. The Death Eaters had taken fucking bets on it and Fenrir had been powerless to stop it. Even he could only endure so many hits from the Killing Curse before he learned not to bite the master he'd foolishly fallen in with.

Growling under his breath when he recalled the Dark Lord's cruel treachery, Fenrir paced back and forth some more, wondering what had become of his pack since the battle. He hadn't seen any of them when he'd been prowling the forest, half out of his head after that final hit from the killing curse that Granger had flung at him, and he really hadn't been looking since then. Part of him knew that only his most ruthless pack members had survived the dog-fighting of the war, and if he was honest, more than a few of them probably wanted to eat his heart for what he'd put them through when he'd aligned himself with the Dark Lord.

Just as he made to pass across the room in front of the fireplace once more, the tell-tale sound of the roar that accompanied Floo travel met his ears and Fenrir glanced down at his naked body, darted his eyes toward the Floo, before doing the only logical thing his wolf could think of.

He dove behind the couch, shifting shape as he did so.

Fenrir skidded behind the couch just in time for the Floo to roar before spitting out someone who smelled distinctly of broom polish and treacle. The fireplace roared a second time and Fenrir almost whined when he caught the scent of his witch.

Both people emitted the thick scent of anxiety.

"Did you leave the lights on?" Harry Potter asked of Fenrir's witch.  
Fenrir glanced around, frowning, not having noticed that he'd turned the lights off while he'd been prowling about the house because they'd been hurting his eyes.

"Erm…" His witch hummed. "I… think I did. Maybe the bulbs have blown?"

"Maybe someone's been in here," Potter said sounding suspicious and Fenrir knew in a heartbeat that the bastard knew.

The lights almost blinded him when they were flicked back on and Fenrir did the only thing he could think of when Potter began searching the house. He crawled under the couch like a common house pet, squeezing himself beneath the furniture despite the way it made his bones ache, having to flatten himself uncomfortably to remain hidden lest Potter discover him.

It wasn't that he was afraid of the young wizard – no matter his singular ability to survive the Killing Curse despite having a distinct lack of lycanthrope blood in his veins. No, Fenrir didn't want to be found because he knew his temper would get the best of him if Potter tried to warn him away from Granger. Fenrir didn't actually _want_ to rip the little blighter's throat out, but he knew his wolf would drive him to violence if some other male thought he could challenge him over Granger.

" _Homenum Revelio,"_ Fenrir heard his witch mutter, forcing down a whine when he watched her feet go past the couch.

He heard the way the spell popped twice, counting only the present humans. In wolf-form, he didn't count as one and Fenrir smirked.

"There's no one else here, Harry," Hermione said.

"Yeah, I'll bet that just what he wants you to think," Potter said. "Did you do a load of washing and leave the dryer running before you came to see me?"

Fenrir closed his eyes, cussing himself for a fool to know the little shit had picked up on that.

"No," Granger admitted, and Fenrir could hear the spike of her heartbeat in her chest as it began to pound, fear souring her scent.

Ordinarily, the sour scent of fear aroused Fenrir, but the stench of it wafting off his witch did strange things to his psyche and Fenrir had to dig his claws into the carpet beneath the couch to keep from crawling right back out from under it and seeking to comfort the witch. It would be hard to protect her from what she feared when _he_ was what she feared.

"So, someone's been here, then?" Potter confirmed.

"Yes," Granger answered softly. "And since you and I are the only ones I've granted access to for crossing the wards, I think it's safe to assume that my visitor was someone the wards didn't affect."

Fenrir almost growled, recalling the sting of crossing those wards. They'd affected him, alright. He was just accustomed to pain. He doubted many other wolves would've been able to cross and to be back on their feet within a few minutes to chase down their prey.

"Greyback, then," Potter concluded.

"Well, I would assume so. Though why he would break in to do my laundry only to disappear again before I returned is a mystery."

"Never stuck me as particularly domestic," Potter said, and Fenrir could hear the smirk in the bastard's voice. "Well, he's not here, according to the spell. I'm going to check all the likely hiding places in the house just in case, though."

"And what do you think you're going to do if you do happen upon him?" Granger asked. "If the spell can't detect him, he's either not here, or he's not human. I don't imagine you'll live to tell tale of the third time someone tries to murder you if a werewolf lunges for your throat, Harry."

"And what do you think you'll do if I don't check and he _is_ hiding somewhere?" Harry asked.

Granger sighed.

"If he can get across the wards to have broken in and do laundry, then it's safe to assume that even if he isn't here right now – as a wolf or a man – then he _will_ eventually return. And you can't just abandon Teddy to move in with me."

"Then you can't stay here, Hermione," Potter said sternly, and Fenrir almost bucked the couch right off of himself before tamping down his wolf's urge to bust out and rip Potter's throat out.

"I can't move in with you, Harry," Granger argued. "If Greyback _is_ planning to make contact with me again, he's not going to be deterred by Fidelus charms or by your presence."

"Maybe not, but I can hit him with a few Killing Curses, knock him unconscious, and lock him in the basement. The cage is still in there from the night's Remus had to use it before the war. I could keep him locked up indefinitely. We'll see how long a werewolf can live without food."

"Now you're subscribing to torture?" Granger asked, sounding disapproving.

"Hermione, that bastard raped you. I plan to torture him until he's a little old werewolf," Potter replied sternly, and Fenrir supposed he ought to be grateful that Granger had such a fierce friend to watch over her.

"He'd eat you alive and you know it," Granger replied. "Even if you managed to lock him up and keep him starved, you know eventually he'd find a way to bust out. Either you'd go down to check on him and he'd eat you, or he'd dig his way out."

"Through several feet of concrete?" Potter asked skeptically.

"Harry, he's a werewolf. He can heal faster that you can say quidditch, and he can live indefinitely. You really think starving him would kill him? You think Remus didn't try that method of attempted suicide when he tried to off himself? He had no money, no job, and no will to live. If starving them killed off werewolves, Remus would've died when you and I were just infants."

"You don't think eventually his wolf would've taken over and forced him to run something down?" Harry asked. "If he was at his dad's cottage, those woods behind it are crawling with deer and other things he could've hunted."

"You imagine he didn't lock himself up?" Hermione asked. "I'm beginning to think that you had a very poor grasp on the kind of man Remus was, Harry. I mean no disrespect to the relationship you had with the man, but he wasn't a well person, you know? Mentally he was borderline unhinged. That kind of self-loathing and depression does strange things to people, and Remus has lived with his curse since he was five years old. To have found friends only to have them all ripped away from him in his early twenties would've almost driven him mad. You imagine for a moment that Ron killed me and went after Neville – killing him too – before being thrown in Azkaban for ten years. How would you feel?"

"Sirius didn't kill anyone," Harry replied stubbornly.

"No, but Remus didn't know that, did he? At the time he thought Sirius had sold your Mum and Dad to Voldemort, and then murdered Pettigrew as well. A man he'd have trusted with his life. A man who knew his secrets. Who made him feel less like a monster in a life where everyone else thought him one. Can you even imagine the level of betrayal he'd have felt? I can't say I blame him for wanting to off himself in such a scenario. I'd likely have done the same thing."

"You wouldn't," Harry said. "You're stronger than that."

Fenrir listened to them from beneath the couch, intrigued in spite of himself to realize that they seemed to share a bond as close as packmates. Littermates, even. They bickered like siblings, though it was clear they cared very deeply for one another.

"I'm not, Harry," Granger said softly, her voice turning regretful. "You don't know the number of times I've thought of turning my wand on myself since that day in the forest."

"You…"

Fenrir couldn't see their faces, but he saw it when Potter approached Granger and he assumed he'd reached for the witch. His wolf wanted to attack the other male for daring, but the man in him recognized that what he'd done to his witch that day had been more damaging that he'd realized. Their use of the term 'rape' had shocked him before he realized that without the kind of animal instinct he lived by, they would certainly see it that way.

Fenrir himself had seen it only as having caught the scent of a fertile female – one who'd ensnared him with her scent months earlier when they Snatched her and her friends. He'd acted as any self-respecting wolf would upon scenting such a ripe female for the taking. He'd rutted her with the intention of impregnating her, and then he'd been on his way. He supposed to her, it looked very much like being ambushed and raped, by human standards. He hadn't asked permission before he'd fucked her. Hells, he didn't think he'd even spoken to her until he was done, and it was only to tell her he'd be back to check on her when his pup was born.

"You're suicidal?" Potter asked her in a low voice.

"I… I'm not about to off myself, Harry," Granger sighed, pulling back and crossing the room to drop down onto the couch above his head.

Fenrir had to fight the urge to nip at her ankles when they appeared in front of his nose.

"You just said…"

"I said that I've thought about it. What else can I say? I'm pregnant with the demonic spawn of the most notorious werewolf of this century after being raped by him. To make matters worse, I had to break up with my boyfriend because of the pregnancy and because I can't bear to have anyone touch me the way he wanted to touch me. I've just lived through a war that very nearly cost me my life and did cost the lives of several people I dearly loved. I dropped out of school, was tortured at wand and knife point. I spend most days expecting to be arrested for having broken into Gringotts with you when we went after the Horcrux, and to top it off, my rapist is stalking me. I don't know if abortion is an option that will actually rid me of the kid he planted inside me, and half the time I flip flop between wanting to pick up a knife and carve this kid out of my womb, myself, and wanting to fiercely protect it from the entire world. I'm all over the place. Of course, I've considered ending it all with a quick curse, Harry."

"You won't, though. Right?" Potter asked, sitting down beside her. Fenrir almost whined at the added weight of the couch pushing down on his spine.

"No," Granger said quietly.

"Even if Greyback's breaking into your house and doing your laundry?" Potter asked.

Granger snorted before she began to giggle.

"What a strange thing for him to have done," she said. "Why on earth would he…?"

"Domestic dad duties," Potter snorted in reply and Granger began to giggle all the more, her feet shifting restlessly as she laughed.

"Don't joke, Harry," she managed. "That's not funny. Can you imagine the big, bad, scary werewolf trying to play Dad?"

"Since Remus split on his own kid? No, I can't," Potter replied, sounding bitter. "We need to find him, Hermione."

Fenrir curled his lip at their amusement, annoyed that they thought he'd be a rubbish father.

"Well, if you want to do that, I'm afraid you're going to have to ask Greyback for help, Harry. And I hardly think he's the type to just willingly assist you with anything. Not unless there's something in it for him."

"I hope you don't think you're going to be the something in it for him?" Potter said, his voice growing low and laced with ferocity.

"What else could you possibly offer him?" Granger scoffed, and Fenrir's eyes widened, wondering if this might be a way to convince his witch she needed him, without scaring the living hell out of her.

"His life, when we're done," Potter suggested.

"You can't kill him, Harry," Granger said. "Believe me, I tried. I flung a killing curse at him during the battle. He was only temporarily affected."

"Well, I'm not about to offer you up to him, Hermione," Potter said. "Not even for the sake of finding Remus. He raped you. You can't bear to have anyone touch you after what that fucker did to you. You back yourself into corners when other people enter a room, always making sure to face them, lest they attack from behind, like he did. I can't just ask you to play nice with this tosser."

"Well, how else are you going to find Remus?" Granger asked, sounding exasperated. "He's a werewolf, Harry. He knows how to survive in the wild. He knows how to disappear in the human world, too, for that matter. His mother was a muggle. He knows how the muggle world works and I expect he'd manage to get by quite well hiding amongst them if he put his mind to it. He could get a casual job somewhere and simply arrange to have full moon days off. Chain himself in a basement on moon nights. He could survive – even thrive – if he really wanted to."

"You really think he could abandon his son?" Harry asked.

Hermione gave a low laugh that made Fenrir's fur stand on end.

"He thinks he's a vicious, unloveable, vile monster, Harry. No matter the guilt he feels at abandoning his son, he'll talk himself into staying away for the sake of seeing that boy raised without the influence of a lycanthrope. He imagines you'll raise the boy just fine, and he won't have to be the shameful secret his son's got to keep."

"He's not a shameful secret," Harry snarled.

"He's a werewolf, Harry. Even now – Merlin, _especially_ now, given Greyback's antics during the war – people are terrified of werewolves. In most of our literature there is always a big, bad wolf hiding in the woods ready to devour little children who wander off. The number of laws and vile codes of conduct Umbridge pushed through pertaining to those she deemed to be half-breeds is exponential. Do you know how many forms I had to sign at St Mungo's today just to see a medi-witch after they found out I was pregnant with the spawn of a werewolf? To make matters worse, Remus has always kept his lycanthropy a secret. And then we went and blew that secret wide open during his funeral, ensuring the world knew what a good man he was and holding up his condition as a badge of honour. I think that Remus Lupin would rather tie rocks to his feet and jump into the deepest ocean on the planet rather than force his presence on a child – on anyone."

"You think he should stay away?" Potter asked, sounding angry.

"I didn't say that," Hermione replied, sighing heavily. "I only meant that I can rationalize his reasons for running. From his perspective, he's doing us all a favour."

"There's nothing favoured about being a fucking orphan, Hermione," Harry said bitterly.

"In his mind, there's nothing worse than a poor boy with a werewolf for a father," Hermione replied.

"I'm going to find him, Hermione," Harry said. "If it's the last thing I do, I'll find that fucker and make him take responsibility for his kid."

"You'll need help from another werewolf," Granger said.

"Then I'll find one," Potter said.

"You know exactly where to find one," Granger retorted.

"I'm not working with Greyback. Not when doing so compromises you."

Granger sighed again, sounding tired and Fenrir watched the way Potter got to his feet.

"Where are you going?" she asked softly when Potter walked away.

"To make sure there isn't a wolf hiding in your bed," Potter said.

"There's not," Granger muttered too quietly for Potter to hear, but the wizard left the room just the same.

Fenrir listened intently as the little shit checked every possible hiding spot in the house and he considered bursting out from his spot beneath the couch, supposing it would be better to be standing upright and ready to fight when Potter found him, than pinned on his belly, flatted beneath the couch like a shy house-cat.

"Any luck?" Granger asked when Potter stomped back into the room a few minutes later.

"No," Potter grunted. "He's not here."

"I didn't think you'd find him," Granger said.

"I'm going to check the garden, in case he's lurking under the window or something."

Granger didn't try to stop him, seeming to sense that Potter wouldn't be deterred. When the wizard returned a few minutes later, huffing with disgruntlement, Fenrir almost laughed.

"You should get back to Teddy, Harry," Hermione said. "Andie's had a long day, and he's probably due for his feeding before bed."

"But what about you?" Potter asked. "I can't just leave you here. He broke in and did laundry. He could come back while you're asleep."

"I can't live the rest of my life in fear, Harry. So far, since that day in the forest, he's kept his distance."

"He never broke in before, either."

"No, but if he meant me harm, he'd had been lying in wait for my return," Granger said.

"And if he comes back?" Potter asked.

"I can still aim a Killing curse at him," Granger said. "And _then_ I'll call you and we can lock him in the basement at Headquarters and starve him into madness."

"What if he hurts you?" Potter said.

Fenrir's hackles rose at the idea.

"He's not going to hurt me, Harry. I'm the mother of his unborn child."

"A child you thought about aborting, today," Potter pointed out. "I doubt it's a coincidence that he broke in here tonight."

"So do I," Hermione said. "At most he might snarl at me about how he'll just impregnate me again if I terminate."

"I doubt you being pregnant will stop him raping you again, Hermione," Harry said.

Fenrir heard his witch gulp at the very idea before she drew in a slow, shaky breath.

"He won't," Hermione said. "I'm no longer in estrus, after all. I'm sure he'll have more control, this time."

"Based on what?" Potter scoffed.

"He did laundry, Harry," Hermione pointed out.

Potter huffed.

"You really want me to just leave you here?" Potter asked.

"I can't put you in danger, and I can't live in fear, Harry. I'm tried of being a victim. It's time I started acting like a survivor," Granger said resolutely, and Fenrir frowned, wondering what he was going to have to do to make her see that he hadn't meant to commit some heinous act. He'd only acted on instinct to impregnate an ovulating female.

"But…" Potter began.

"Go home, Harry," Granger said sternly. "I'll be fine. I didn't tell you what happened, so you could wrap me in cotton wool."

Potter made a noise like he wanted to protest some more, but the witch must've glared at him.

"Fine," Potter muttered. "But I'm coming back in the morning. And if you're not as wholly bloody perfect as you are now – if one single hair on your head is out of place, I'm going to pull bits of Greyback off a little at a time and feed them to him."

Fenrir almost smirked at the threat, shaking his head to himself as best he could, both he and the beast inside of him amused by the threat.

"Goodnight, Harry," Granger said.

"Night, love," Potter said quietly, moving over toward Granger before shuffling awkwardly a minute. Fenrir resisted the urge to bite him when he suspected the git had kissed Granger on the cheek or the forehead. He hated not being able to see.

Potter moved to the Floo after that, calling out for his home and disappearing from view. Fenrir waited, noting with unease the way his witch immediately leapt up from the couch and ran around the back of it. Shuffling a little, trying to figure out how to get free from under the lounger, Fenrir's eyes widened at the sound of creaking plastic.

The dryer stopped as she ripped the door of it open.

"Oh, you bloody bastard! I swear to Merlin, if a single item of my clothing shrank in the wash because you just chucked it all in here, I'm going to make you pay," he heard her threaten and Fenrir frowned.

He heard her digging through the laundry and he realized with some alarm that she was going to locate his clothing.

"I know you're there, Greyback," she said after a few long minutes of silence. "Are you going to come out? Or are you stuck?"

Fenrir's eyes widened, and he blinked in surprise when the witch crossed back to the couch and suddenly threw herself down on her belly, her wand trained on him threateningly as she met his gaze in his hiding spot.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: *Isn't even sorry***

 **Mwhahahaha!**

 **xx-Kitten.**

* * *

 **Hold Me Down**

 _By Kittenshift17_

* * *

 **Chapter Six**

* * *

Hermione glared at the wolf under her couch, thinking seriously about hexing him right where he laid. He backpedaled at the sight of her wand, scrabbling his claws against the carpet and upsetting the couch on its feet as he tried to wriggle himself out from under it. She scowled, getting to her feet once more when he emitted an angry growl and didn't manage to free himself. Not about to risk what might happen if he was allowed to properly lose his temper, Hermione jumped to her feet and flicked her wand to tip the couch up so that it was no longer trapping him.

She heard a huff of annoyance before a shimmer and a surge of magic filtered through the cottage living room and a very naked, very clean, and very suspicious looking Fenrir Greyback rose to his full height in human form and regarded her from the far side of the couch. He took a single step backward when she let the couch fall back to the floor between them, releasing the levitation charm. Her heart was pounding rapidly inside her chest, as it had been since she'd realized he was hiding under her couch, and Hermione kept her wand trained on him, only too willing to hit him with the Killing Curse if he moved so much as a muscle in her direction.

"Hello, girly," he said finally after they regarded one another guardedly for several tense minutes in silence.

Hermione bared her teeth at him as though she were the werewolf, feeling the strangest urge to snarl at him like a feral mutt.

"What are you doing hiding under my couch, Greyback?" she demanded.

He shrugged his shoulders, which she noticed were a little red from being trapped under the lounge.

"How'd you know I was there?" he wanted to know, rather than offering her any sort of reasonable explanation. Why Hermione imagined she might actually get any logic or reason out of the monstrous beast before her, she had no idea, but she supposed it was easier to imagine he might actually operate on more than just basic instinct. She wanted to believe that, anyway. Somehow, the idea of him being too animalistic to reason beyond basic urges made his violation of her feel that much more horrific than it already was.

"I could feel your breath on my ankles," she replied, scowling at him and thinking that she really should just hex him. If she hexed him, she could tie him up and then question him without having to worry that he might jump her at any moment.

He nodded his head, shrugging his shoulders again as though they pained him, and Hermione frowned at him all the more when he didn't do anything else, simply stood there, his chin raised, one eyebrow cocked, waiting.

Curse him for a patient predator!

"Well?" she asked finally when their standoff reached the point of being uncomfortable.

She tried not to tremble with fear when he traced those golden-hued eyes over her from head to foot.

"You going to keep pointing that thing at me, girly?" he wanted to know, slowly moving backward across the room in the direction of the dryer.

Hermione fought to keep her eyes trained on his face, but she failed dismally when all his masculine glory swam into view over the top of the couch. Merlin's little green apples, it ought to be illegal for so wretched a man to be blessed with a body like that. She'd known he was lean, of course. She'd felt the unforgiving strength of hard muscles when he'd been pressed against her back as he claimed her like the beast he was.

"After what you did?" Hermione scowled at him. "I'll be hexing off everything vital if you put a paw wrong, Greyback. Why are you here? You haven't come this close since…."

Hermione trailed off, biting her lip when he turned his back on her suddenly to reach for his tattered jeans out of the dryer, revealing the tight planes of his bum to her gazing and making her all the more annoyed that despite the number of terrible scars littering his body, he really was well-made. He wriggled into his jeans before turning back to face her, apparently not caring about underwear or a shirt.

"Can't stay gone forever, girly," he told her, taking measured steps in her direction as though he might round the couch and invade her space.

"You could," she disagreed. "I certainly wouldn't mind."

Greyback's lips pulled back from his teeth and Hermione had trouble distinguishing whether it was in a smile or a threatening display of his fangs.

"You wanted to snuff out my pup," he accused quietly.

"And you've come to threaten me against doing so?" she asked.

He took another step toward her and Hermione fired at Stinging Jinx at him. It wouldn't do more than vaguely irritate him, but it would send the message that she wasn't afraid to use violence if he pushed her.

"That's far enough," she warned.

"Scared of me, Granger?" he asked, tipping his head to one side. "I never meant to… terrify you… that day."

"You raped me," she hissed, fighting tears of rage as she stared into his face while he watched her like some curious mutt.

"I mated a female in heat," he countered. "Never meant you no ill will, girly. Didn't hurt you none, did I? Could've eaten you, but I didn't."

Hermione bared her teeth at him a second time.

"You shoved my face into a tree and scratched the skin off against the bark. You violated me without so much as a lubrication charm and you're hardly a small male, Greyback. Believe me, you hurt me plenty."

He winced at her words, looking contrite at the reminders.

"Never meant to," he said, shrugging his enormous shoulders and Hermione hated the way the shifting ropes of muscle under his tan skin caught her attention so effectively.

"Why are you here?" she asked. "You been following me from a distance for weeks. Why have you invaded my cottage, today?"

He shrugged his shoulders again, still regarding her quietly and Hermione didn't like the way he seemed so content not saying anything when she had questions and when she wanted to scream at him about what a monster he was for all he'd done to her.

"You're not going to rip my pup out of your belly, girly," Greyback said quietly.

"Who's going to stop me?" she wanted to know, raising her eyebrows and lifting her wand a little higher. "A Killing curse won't end you, but it'll certainly slow you down."

"Rip my pup out and I'll just plant another one in you," he countered.

"Why?" she demanded, narrowing her eyes hatefully at him for the confirmation of her earlier fears that even if she had decided to drink the potion and terminate the pregnancy, he would just rape her again and impregnate her once more. It would seem that she was going to have no choice but to have a child in short order. "Why did you do this to me? Why would you want me to be the mother to your child? In the forest it made sense that I was in... heat... but if I terminated, why would you just impregnate me again?"

Greyback scratched the side of his face idly, tracing his canine-yellow eyes over her body once more like he was thinking about running his hands over every inch of her.

"That woman at the clinic told you why," he said, his voice gruff and Hermione narrowed her eyes on him suspiciously.

"You were at the hospital today?" she asked quietly, her stomach flipping over with fear that she didn't doubt he'd be able to smell.

"The only place I haven't followed you since I knocked you up was to Potter's tonight," Greyback said, tipping his head to one side and regarding her like a curious mutt. She wondered if it was because he was awaiting her reaction, of if it was just a natural state for him.

"Why?"

"Why am I following you?" he confirmed, taking a small step further around the couch before lowering himself down to sit on it as he continued watching her.

Hermione watched the way he reached up to rub at his shoulders as though they ached, and she suspected he'd hurt himself when he'd crawled under her couch. She felt no sympathy for him, reminding herself sternly that he was a monster and that no matter what he might do or say, or what his reasoning might've been that day in the forest, he'd still done terrible things in his life and most likely deserved to be hurt a whole lot worse and a few scrapes or bruises.

"You know why, girly," Greyback said quietly, his canine-gold eyes boring into her own seriously. "For the same reason the only pups you'll ever have will be sired by me, and the same reason you've got that crescent moon magicked on the back of your neck."

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek, her heart hammering out an uneven beat inside her chest and her stomach twisting into knots. She felt like she might be sick. Merlin, she felt like she couldn't bear the truth. She didn't want him to say it, but she knew that she'd never believe it if he didn't.

"Say it," she said tightly, her wand still trained on him dangerously.

Greyback sighed heavily as he watched her beginning to panic and Hermione suspected he didn't really want to say it. She got the feeling from the look on his face that he wasn't too thrilled about it, himself, actually, and she didn't know if that made her feel better or worse.

"You're my wolf-mate, Hermione," Fenrir said seriously, his face blank of all emotion as he watched her, one of his hands balling into a clawed fist.

Hermione gasped even though she'd known the truth was coming and she felt her knees buckle under her at the devastating news. It couldn't be true. It just couldn't. But it was. That much was clear from the look on his face and the strange little flutter in her womb and the warm tingle of the mark on the back of her neck that she hadn't even known existed until a few short hours ago.

Overcome from the stress and the horror and the fear of him invading her home and the things the midwife had said to her and everything she'd spoken to Harry about, the final devastating blow to the remaining smithereens of her reality knocked the breath from her lungs and the last thing Hermione saw as she fainted was Fenrir Greyback lunging off the couch in her direction.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: *skulks in, like Santa Claus***

 ***stuffs the newest chapter into your stocking***

 ***prances away***

 **Happy Holidays, everyone!**

 **xx-Kitten.**

* * *

 **Hold Me Down**

 _By Kittenshift17_

* * *

 **Chapter Seven**

* * *

Fenrir just barely managed to snag hold of his witch before she could crash into the coffee table. Catching hold of her and contorting his own body to cradle her into his arms as they both fell, he growled at the bite of the coffee table corner into his hip before he slid to the floor with the unconscious witch sprawled across his lap.

"Well… fuck," Fenrir cursed, eyeing the little witch worriedly. "You can take the rutting, and the pregnancy, and the shock of finding me naked under the couch, but hearing you're my wolf-mate is too much? Really, girly?"

Granger offered no answer, given that she was passed out, and Fenrir frowned, wondering what he was supposed to do now. He didn't imagine it could be very good for a pregnant witch to faint, even if he had caught her and prevented her from injuring herself.

"Bloody hell," he grumbled to himself, wriggling around until he could haul her more fully across his lap and into his arms.

Fenrir carefully rose to his feet, clutching the small witch in his arms and thinking to himself that he was never going to hear the end of it if he tried anything other than laying her on the sofa. He was sure that if he tried to put her to bed, she would flip out when she woke up. He got the feeling it would be too much of a violation at this stage of their acquaintance to invite himself into her bedroom. Sighing, Fenrir tipped his head back and glared at the ceiling for a long moment as he grappled with his wolf over what was appropriate, and what was wildly out of order. His wolf, it seemed, was wholly of the opinion that this would be a perfect time to put her into bed, strip her, and begin learning her taste and her feel while she wasn't able to put up a fight or go growling at him.

"We're not doing that," Fenrir growled at his wolf through gritted teeth before looking back at the prone form of the tiny witch in his arms.

She really was young, he realized as he got his first good look at her from so close without her scowling at him, trying to fight him off, or just looking like the weight of the world was on her shoulders. Her cheeks were pale thanks to the fainting spell, revealing a small spattering of freckles on her nose and cheeks that he'd never noticed before. She seemed almost fragile as he carefully lowered her down to lie lengthways on the sofa and Fenrir frowned as he traced his eyes over her, noting that she was young, petite, and almost frail following the ravages of the war.

It surprised him because ordinarily, when she was awake, she seemed so very fierce. The way she carried herself and the way she held herself leant itself to age, wisdom, and power that he was beginning to think she might not have in quite so much abundance as he'd first imagined.

"So small, girly," he muttered to her, smoothing a few wayward curls back from her face and eyeing her curiously.

There could be no doubt that she was his wolf-mate, he realized as he touched her so gently. When he was in her presence, his wolf wanted to behave. Any other witch before she'd come along would've been in the most danger right in that moment, unconscious in his presence. But not this one. This fierce little witch carrying his pup was as safe as could be despite the presence of the big scary werewolf and Fenrir wasn't quite sure he liked the idea of going soft over a bloody female. Just what he needed with the few surviving members of his pack ruthless, hungry, and out for revenge.

Before he could worry too much about being followed back to his little witch and the pup in her womb, she gasped awake. Her cinnamon eyes snapped open and she screamed, almost deafening him as she attempted to awkwardly backpedal across the couch away from him. Fenrir winced, recoiling and clapping his hands to his sensitive ears, growling at her in frustration when the ache of his eardrums sparked a headache behind his eyes.

"Blimey, Granger," he complained, frowning at her in annoyance.

"Get back!" she gasped, her eyes wide with terror as her hand groped blindly for her wand, as though that might save her. "Don't touch me!"

Fenrir wanted to growl all over again, but rather than arguing, he let himself roll out of his crouch and backward to sprawl on his bum in the middle of her living room. She was still trying to scramble away from him, but her back had hit the cushions, and there was nowhere else to go.

"You fainted," he informed her despite the rapid breathing and wide eyes she was practicing. "I bloody caught you before you could crack your head on the table, girly. Calm down."

"Calm down?" she hissed. "The last time you were this close to me, you raped me, Greyback."

"And I bloody apologized for you seein' it that way, didn't I?" he growled, losing patience with her. "You're my thrice damned bloody wolf-mate, witch! You're lucky I didn't have you that day we snatched you at Christmas before dragging you off to Malfoy Manor. And you're sodding lucky I'm a patient wolf, or I'd have had you hundreds of times by now, girl. You're my mate. My witch. My bloody territory, _and_ you're carrying my pup."

"I'm not your anything," she denied vehemently, looking ready to curse him into a coma. Again.

"Yes, you are," Fenrir bit out, his fangs lengthening and his claws prickling at the denial. "And you will be until the day you die. No matter how far you run, or where you hide, I will find you. No matter how many of my pups you murder, I'll rut another one into you. You're it for me, witch. Get used to it!"

She reacted by scrambling awkwardly over the back of the couch and landing on her feet, skittishly looking about her small cottage. Fenrir rose to his feet slowly, recognizing the look of a flighty hind about to make a run for it. And it would be the very worst thing she could do.

" _Don't_ run," he warned her quietly.

She glared at him.

"Don't," he cautioned a second time, his toenails lengthening to claws that threatened to rip holes in her carpet in preparation to spring after her. "I'm a predator, Hermione. And if you run, you become my prey."

"I'm already your prey," she hissed. "I have been since you caught a whiff of me that day with the Snatchers."

"Mmmm, you ran from me then, too," he hummed, recalling that day with alarming clarity. "And look what it got you."

She curled her lip away from her teeth hatefully in a silent snarl like any wolf and Fenrir responded in kind, knowing it would likely frighten her all the more, but unable to resist his instincts.

"I'm not your mate," Hermione insisted, taking a measured step backward.

Fenrir mimicked her, taking one step forward for every step backward that she took.

"Yes, you are," he growled at her. "And if you run from me, I'll run you down and prove it. This close to the moon, I bite, girly."

"As though that's something to fear?" she hissed, reaching up and pulling aside the neck of her shirt to reveal the scar left behind from when he'd bitten her while he'd rutted her last time they'd been in such close quarters. Fenrir narrowed his eyes on the mark for a long moment before huffing out a breath in annoyance.

"Do you _want_ me to bite you again?" he asked seriously.

She frowned at him like he was a moron and Fenrir scowled.

"What would ever possess me to want that?" she sneered. "Frankly, Greyback, if I never see you again, it'll be too soon."

"I'm not leaving," he warned her quietly. "And you'll be begging me to bite you, and to fuck you long before that pup is born, girly."

"I most certainly will _not_ ," she disagreed, drawing herself up a little higher and looking both disgusted and indignant at the very suggestion.

"No?" Fenrir asked, forcing the itch of tension between his shoulders to relax, his wolf hungry to remind her that she was his mate and would be until the day she died. "Then tell me something, girly… why've you been calling out for me in your sleep?"

Her eyes narrowed.

"If you can't tell the difference between wanton cries of need and shrieks of terror, Greyback, then you're even further gone than I thought," she sneered coldly, backpedaling a few more steps and forcing him to dog them across the room until his knees hit the front of the sofa.

"You keep telling yourself that, little witch," he said quietly, regarding her coolly and beginning to think that it might've been a mistake to ambush her so soon. Maybe she needed longer to warm up to him.

"Why are you here, Greyback?" she demanded, her wand gripped tightly in her closed fist and her eyes fixed on him, just waiting for him to spring at her.

"You know why," he said. "You're my mate, and you're carrying my pup. And as a result of both of those things, you're going to need me before the next full moon."

"I'll never need you," she hissed meanly and, unbidden, Fenrir snarled at her ferociously.

She flinched back in surprise and he knew in a heartbeat that he'd pushed her too far. Even as she began to turn, intent on running, he sprang at her, his powerful legs propelling him right over the top of the sofa. She barely got three steps – not even really what could be considered having run from him, which worked in her favor – before he barreled into her from behind. She screamed as she stumbled forward, his arms coming up to cage her petite frame against his chest and lifting her right off her feet.

She screamed, and she flailed violently in his hold.

"GET OFF ME!"

Fenrir's ears were ringing, and he was going to have to teach the bloody woman to use her inside-voice, or she was going to permanently deafen him.

"I warned you," he growled, his lips by her ear.

She was trembling violently as she struggled, trying desperately to get away. Her nails slashed against the skin of his arms, cutting ribbons into his flesh as she tried to fight her way free and it occurred to him that having him wrapped around her from behind must be too reminiscent of what he'd done to her in the forest when he'd rutted her.

Spinning her quickly, he dug one hand into her thick curls, clutching the back of her head and forcing her face against his bare chest while his other arm looped around her lower back, gripping her so tightly, he was sure he might be hurting her. She continued to scream, the sound growing ragged as her emotions reached their tipping point. The fear and pain and rage pouring off her was palpable, stinging his nose and making his wolf was to curl into a ball and whine to know he'd been the one to inspire this in his own mate.

"Come on, girly," he muttered into the top of her head, still holding her snugly while she clawed at him viciously, drawing blood and marking his flesh with her talons. "Easy, now. Come on. I'm not going to hurt you. Shhhhh."

"ARRGGHHH!" she shrieked again, flailing harder and Fenrir gritted his teeth against the sound, his head pounding and his ears ringing.

"Shhhh. You're alright, Hermione," he crooned to her softly, just knowing he might live to regret what he was doing, but unable to help himself with his wolf guiding his actions. "Come on, girly. Shhhh. I've got you. You're safe. I won't hurt you."

"You hurt everything you touch," she accused thickly, her voice ragged and croaky as tears began streaming down her face. She writhed in his grip, surprising him with her show of strength when she managed to force him back a half-step before she began beating her tiny fists against his chest in her fury.

He could smell her hatred for him and Fenrir sighed softly, slowly releasing his hold on her as she continued striking him again and again for what he'd done. He didn't blame her, even if his wolf couldn't understand this kind of outrage over being rutted. The human side of his consciousness could understand and even rationalize that what she was doing was likely cathartic, and that he'd terrified her when he'd grabbed her that day in the forest.

She sobbed as she struck him over and over, punching and punching her tiny fists against his bare chest, wearing herself out as she cried out her fear and her pain until she couldn't lift her arms anymore. When her knees gave out under her, Fenrir caught her, scooping her up into his hold and cradling her like she was a bride on her wedding day. She wiggled impotently for a few moments before all the fight went out of her and she put her hands over her face, crying softly.

Carrying her around the sofa, Fenrir carefully sat upon it. He cradled her in his arms and sat her in his lap and she tensed at the feel of so much of his body pressed against hers, but she didn't stop crying and he didn't release his hold enough that she could move off him.

"Why are you here, Greyback?" she asked thickly. "Why me? Why couldn't you have just stayed away?"

Fenrir sighed heavily, his breath stirring her wild curls and he shrugged his shoulders.

"Because you're my witch," he told her quietly. "Believe me, girly, I'm no happier about it than you."

She choked on a sob and lifted her eyes to stare into his face, apparently shocked to hear him say so, and Fenrir regarded her coolly. Before she'd come along smelling so bloody enticing, he'd managed to avoid being tied down by the complications of having a mate or letting women get into his head. He'd fucked more that his fair share during the years he'd been on this Earth, but he'd never given a single one of them more than a passing thought. They scratched the itch when it arose, and then they each went their separate ways.

"You…?" she began, looking confused before seeming to realize just how close she was to him.

She wriggled off his lap and crawled to the far end of the sofa, pulling her knees to her chest and making herself as small as possible, though she never took her eyes off him. Fenrir let her, even though his wolf was snarling inside his head about missed opportunity to properly mark her as his mate and to begin convincing her that she would really be more comfortable moving forward in her pregnancy if she let him make her feel good.

"You didn't have any hand in choosing me as your mate?" she asked in a small voice when she'd gotten herself situated and was able to articulate her thoughts without her voice cracking thanks to her tears.

"Believe me, girly, I had no intention of ever being bloody well tied down like this," Fenrir admitted, eyeing her guardedly and wrestling with his wolf's urge to reach for her all over again, part of him just dying to take hold of her ankle and drag her back across the couch so that he could have his wicked way with her.

"Then why come here?" she frowned at him. "Just because I have this unwelcome tattoo on the back of my neck and this… this… _thing_ in my womb doesn't mean you need to be here, Greyback. Why threaten to hunt me down or re-impregnate me if I terminate? I can be rid of the baby, you can go back to… whatever it is you were doing before the war, and I can get back to living my life as any regular, war-ravaged, probably-suffering-PTSD, high-school-dropout eighteen year old should and we can just pretend none of this ever happened."

Fenrir growled at her and she flinched.

"What?" she demanded. "Why are you growling? I'm not ready for a child, Greyback. I haven't even finished school."

Fenrir paused at her words, frowning at her. "You're only eighteen?" he asked, unsure how to feel to learn that she was so very young.

"Yes," she nodded. "Why? How old are you?"

Fenrir wasn't sure he should tell her. In truth, he wasn't wholly sure he knew. He'd been infected with lycanthropy at a very young age. Before he turned five, in fact. Perhaps younger. He only had very vague memories of the time before that.

"That's… not important," he said evasively.

"Uh… yes, it is," Hermione protested. "How old, Greyback? Just tell me. I'm already having a bloody shite evening, you might as well lay it all on me, now. I know you're much old than me – and much older than you look. You were an adult when Remus was just a child, so I know you're at least… what… late fifties? Early sixties."

Fenrir frowned.

"Pretty sure I'll be eighty-three next month," he admitted begrudgingly when she looked so beseeching.

She gasped in surprised, eyeing him like he must be some decrepit old man and Fenrir growled at her all over again, annoyed with her for asking, and with the bloody Fates for dealing him such a hand as to pair him with someone so much younger. Being immortal was beginning to blow.

"Pretty sure?" she frowned after several long minutes of silence, as though she'd needed time to let that sink in.

"Got bitten before I was old enough to form real memories," Fenrir shrugged, frowning at him. "Went feral. Don't even rightly know if Fenrir Greyback is my real name."

"How could you not know?" she frowned. "Who raised you? Didn't they tell you your name and your birthday?"

Fenrir curled his lip away from his teeth, though he wasn't sure if he was annoyed or amused.

"Girly, I've been living feral… all wolf… since I was bitten. Nobody 'raised' me. I just… survived."

She looked utterly horrified, her eyes going wide with something akin to pity glittering in them.

"How?" she breathed.

"What do you mean, 'how'?" Fenrir frowned at her.

"How did you survive? Most children begin forming lasting memories at three or four years old, some even younger. You'd have been too young to fend for yourself."

Fenrir's laugh was low and bitter when it sounded.

"You think a wolf can't fend for himself?" he asked.

"Well, of course he can," she said. "But even wolf pups need the care of the pack. Did you have a pack to raise you?"

"Had a pack hunting me," he said, frowning. "First coherent memory I've got is of being bitten. And I've been learning to fight, and to survive, ever since. Never had anybody helping me."

"But you'd have been so young… why didn't your parents do anything to help you?" she asked, and Fenrir began to think she'd been raised by two loving muggles who'd doted on her and protected her from the world.

"Who do you think chained me up as werewolf bait, girly?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. "It was no accident that I was bitten, I know that much. I almost chewed my right foot off when I was bitten and the wolf took me, only to find me chained. Back then they thought the best way to protect from werewolves was to sacrifice to them at full moons. Give the hungry beast something to snack on that's easy pickings and he won't go prowling, see?"

"And they chained a child up as bait?" she asked, looking a bit like she was going to be sick.

Fenrir couldn't help it. He laughed.

"You didn't think they'd be safe chaining up livestock, did you? Come on, girly. I know you're a smart one. The werewolf responds only to the call of its own kind, and rabidly seeks human flesh at the full moon. I might run down a deer or a boar when I'm peckish outside of the full moon but make no mistake that every living werewolf craves human flesh at a full moon."

"So, they just… chained up a toddler?"

"It was the early 1900s, Granger. Children were abundant and often unwelcome, additional mouths to feed. I'm lucking I lived long enough to be bitten at all and survive the bite. Figure I'd have been four or five by then. Maybe."

"So, you're… sixty-five years older than me?" she asked, looking rather horrified by the gap. Fenrir didn't blame her. He certainly didn't look or feel his age, but he knew that to the young and the immature, age seemed vitally important. And being raised by muggles, who often only lived to be between sixty and ninety, or so, she would be attuned to thinking his age was old.

"Don't worry, girly," Fenrir said quietly. "In lycanthrope years, I haven't even hit my prime, yet."

"What?" she gasped, her eyes widening.

"You heard me," he said.

"You… what is considered to be 'prime age' in werewolf years?" she asked, clearly baffled.

"Usually about a hundred and fifty or two hundred," Fenrir shrugged his shoulders idly. "Even with the age gap, I'll outlive you, Hermione. At least, I will unless I bite you."

Her eyes widened, and Fenrir suspected she could tell that he had every intention of biting her. If he had to be saddled with a wolf-mate, he wasn't about to go losing her to some spell, or sickness or run of the mill old-age.

"I don't want you to bite me," she said quietly, frowning at him when she realized he had every intention of it. "And I'm fairly certain that doing so would have a negative on the baby."

Fenrir nodded slowly, a wolfish grin curling across his lips and causing the fear and nervousness permeating her scent to spike.

"Oh, don't worry, girly. I'll give you a few pups and a few years before we think about giving you a wolf all your own," he promised quietly.

He wondered if he was as much a monster as they claimed when her nervous and audible gulp made him chuckle wickedly

* * *

 **NOTE: I have recently published an original novel featuring werewolves on Amazon. If you like my stuff, check out my author profile or hit me up on FB for all the details.**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** ***pads up behind you, quiet as a mouse***

 ***smirks to see you've turned your attention to other things***

 ***Shouts "Boo!" right by your ear, making your drop your mug of tea***

 ***cackles wickledly while you squeak in surprise and terror and begin whacking at me with your little hands***

 ***smiles winningly before handing over this new chapter in penance***

 ***ruffles your hair and bounds away to leave other chapters for other fics hidden about your house, just waiting to be found***

 **xx-Kitten.**

* * *

 **Hold Me Down**

 _By Kittenshift17_

* * *

 **Chapter Eight**

* * *

Hermione didn't know what to say in the face of his proclamation, so she didn't acknowledge it in the slightest. Instead, she quickly cast her eyes around the room, wondering how to get the werewolf out of her house and thinking that she should've drawn attention to his hiding spot while Harry had still been here. Things would be a lot easier if he was locked in a cell and she could walk away whenever she wanted to. Having him seated on the other end of her couch, inside her little cottage, made it a lot more complicated to deal with him.

"I suppose you heard my entire discussion with Harry about Remus?" she asked finally when the silence stretched indefinitely, Greyback seeming more than content to simply sit quietly rather than feeling the need to make small talk.

She narrowed her eyes when all he offered in response was a shrug of his shoulders.

"Do you believe he's dead?" she asked bluntly, scowling at the werewolf who'd bitten poor Remus in the first place.

"Hard to say," he grunted with a shrug, and Hermione glared at him when he made no move to continue.

"Why is it hard to say?" she demanded.

"Haven't seen him in months," Greyback said, as though that was explanation enough.

"Meaning?"

"Meaning who the hell knows if he's still alive?" he grumbled, glaring at her in return and looking like he thought she was a bit dense. "Could be dead for all I know. Two months is a long time for a werewolf on his own trying to carve out an existence with nothing to his name after he's spent a lifetime _trying_ to live solely as a human with a control problem three days a month. Might be he met another werewolf who didn't like having his territory encroached and got his heart eaten. Might be he stumbled on a whole pack – like my old pack – who'd take issue with him and his loyalties during the war. Might be he's just sitting someone out in the woods trying to starve himself to death, staring at nothing. How would I know?"

"But he didn't die in the Final Battle up at the school?" she confirmed.

"He's _your_ friend, girly. Why don't _you_ know if he died in the battle?"

"Well, it was presumed he did," Hermione said. "He and his wolf-mate, Tonks, were both struck by the Killing Curse during the fighting. They were collected and brought to the Great Hall when V-Voldemort gave the order for a reprieve from the fighting to collect the dead so he could force Harry to surrender."

"Killing Curse won't kill a werewolf," Fenrir growled quietly, and from the way he was looking at her, it was evident that he knew she knew that. She had first-hand experience, after all. She'd tried it on him.

"His body was gone when the fight was finally over," Hermione nodded. "But no one has seen or heard from him since."

"Lost his wolf-mate in the fighting, you said?" Greyback mused, and Hermione flinched when he rose to his feet and rounded the far end of the couch, circling around to stoke the fire in the fireplace.

It occurred to her only after she watched him load three big logs into the flames and felt the warmth of the room begin to spiral outward that she'd begun to shiver.

"Tonks was killed, yes," Hermione nodded, not acknowledging his actions when he dusted the splinters and dirt from his hand before he picked up the basket she used to cart logs inside from the woodshed out the back.

"They had a pup?" Greyback asked, raising one eyebrow at her.

"Teddy Lupin," Hermione nodded.

"Hmmm," Greyback grunted, and Hermione frowned when he walked out of the room carrying her wood basket without saying anything else.

She heard the back door of the cottage open, before she heard the sounds of logs being loaded into the basket and a low growl of warning that made her hair stand on end.

"What are you growling at?" she asked, frowning, though she didn't dare move from the couch, unsure how to deal with having the beast who had so terrified her just wandering about her home and doing a domestic chore like bringing in the firewood.

Another growl followed by a thump made her nervous and Hermione clutched her wand tightly in her fist.

"Greyback?" she asked when a low, mean chuckle sounded from the back garden.

Silence followed and Hermione thought about getting up to investigate but just before she could swing her feet to the floor, he appeared from the garden carrying the overloaded wood basket with ease.

"What did you just do?" she asked suspiciously when she noticed that he looked rather pleased with himself.

"Don't worry about it," he answered, setting down the wood basket and stirring the fire a little more.

"Because that's going to satisfy my curiosity?" she demanded, narrowing her eyes. "You growled at something out there, and I'm fairly certain you chucked one of those logs at something, and now you look entirely too pleased with yourself."

He didn't answer her before he rose to his feet and stood with his back to the fire for a moment, regarding her unnervingly.

"Still cold?" he asked, and Hermione scowled.

"You're being evasive," she accused.

His only response was to cross to the armchair closest to the fire where she kept a soft woolen throw. He picked it up and carried it over to her, standing there looming over her until she took it from him and spread it around her shoulders to keep warm.

"Happy?" she grumbled, annoyed.

"Meh," he answered, shrugging and looking non-plussed and Hermione's eyes crossed in annoyance.

"You're not going to tell me what you were growling at, are you?" she asked.

"Doesn't matter anymore," he said, pacing restlessly back and forth in front of the fire and making her nervous.

"You killed something in my garden just now, didn't you?" Hermione guessed, her eyes narrowed.

"Why would you assume that?" he wanted to know. "What? Just because I'm a werewolf, I'm automatically killing things in your yard?"

"You have blood on your chin," Hermione informed him coolly.

"No, I don't," he denied.

Hermione just raised her eyebrows before nodding toward the mirror hanging above the mantel so he could see for himself.

He turned, and Hermione caught the way his eyes twitched before he rubbed at the offending spot of dried blood on his chin almost hidden amid his unruly facial hair.

"And I'm supposed to believe you _didn't_ just kill something in my garden?" Hermione asked mildly. "I assume from the location of the blood that you also ate whatever poor creature you slaughtered."

"Look, you didn't have a whole lot of food in your fridge or your pantry, alright girly?"

"You raided my fridge?" Hermione asked, aghast.

He frowned at her scandalized expression before tapping his own chest indicatively.

"Werewolf," he reminded her.

"That doesn't mean you can raid my fridge!" Hermione growled at him in return before pointing to herself and reminding him. "Pregnant witch, remember?"

"I didn't have time to go hunting today because I had to run after you to the death lab so I could make sure you weren't going to kill our cub," he argued, shrugging.

"How is that my fault?" she demanded, baring her teeth at him in annoyance. "And did you just call the hospital a death lab? You know what? Never mind. It's not important. What matters is: what am I supposed to eat when I get hungry an hour from now because this wretched little _demon_ you planted inside me is more ravenous than.. than…"

"A hungry wolf?" Fenrir suggested, smirking at her, clearly amused by her furious spluttering.

Hermione flung one of the couch cushions at him, irrationally annoyed.

He caught it with ease and began to laugh.

"Don't get your tail in a knot, girly," he said, his low, rumbling laughter filling up her cottage and unsettling her immensely, given that the only laugh she'd heard from him before now had been a vicious, mean chuckle while she'd been imprisoned at Malfoy Manor.

"You stole my food!" she hissed, and the logical side of her knew that it was irrational to be this furious, but she couldn't help it. She was already getting hungry again after the fish and chips Harry had given her, and now this… this… _beast_ was eating whatever small woodland creatures had stumbled into her garden because he'd already emptied the fridge.

"I'll get you some more," he shrugged his shoulders.

"You just ate Merlin knows what out in the garden – raw, I presume – like a complete barbarian, and you devoured everything in my fridge and… Wait… did you say _you'd_ get me more food?" Hermione stopped mid-rant, realizing what he'd said.

"You're hungry, aren't you?" he guessed, still looking amused, and it occurred to Hermione that at some point during her mini-rant she'd climbed off the couch and was on her feet, pointing an accusing finger at the werewolf and glaring at him for all she was worth, dressing him down like any old couple bickering over needing to go out for groceries.

"That's beside the point," Hermione stamped her foot. "The point is, you broke into my cottage, and you ate my food, and you probably shrunk a good deal of my clothes when you put them all the dryer, and you're standing there, smirking at me like all of this is funny when it's actually a multitude of crimes. I should wallop you. I'm going to! How dare you just… just… invade my life like this!"

She didn't realize she'd moved until she thumped her hand against his bare chest, fist closed. Hermione froze the minute she'd done so, realizing she was now standing within two feet of the man who'd raped her, having just walloped him in the chest even though he was practically indestructible, and even though she had no real idea of his motives for having suddenly invaded her life as she'd just accused. Blinking rapidly, Hermione backpedaled away from him quickly, not taking her eyes off him, even though she noted that rather than looking angry, he still looked amused and maybe even a little bit fond of her.

"You're kinda of cute when you're hangry with me, girly," he told her, tipping his head to one side in a way that reminded her of a dog. "How about I bring you something to eat, and then we'll talk about Lupin, and about that cub you're carrying and where the hell we go from here?"

Hermione wasn't so sure she wanted to talk about being his wolf-mate, or about being the incubator for the child he'd inseminated her with, but she _did_ want to pump him for whatever other information she could get out of him about Remus.

"Fine," she muttered, continuing to back away before eventually turning away and opening the door of the fridge just to prove that even though she was a little terrified, she wasn't going to spend her whole life fearing him. She was a strong, independent witch, thank you very much, and even if he was the monster who'd taken away her free will and used her as he saw fit, she refused to be cowed by him.

You know. From a distance. When he seemed to be in a good mood. And was offering her food. After she'd walloped him. But that wasn't the point!

"Mmm," he hummed from across the room when she peered into the fridge and saw that despite his claims to have eaten everything, he really hadn't. He'd eaten the packet of bacon she'd picked up yesterday, and the packet of sausages she'd been defrosting for the sake of cooking bangers and mash, but there were plenty of non-meat food options still available.

Settling for making a sandwich, Hermione pulled out the butter, the cheese, and the pickle relish she'd recently acquired a liking for. She wanted corned beef on her sandwich too, but he'd evidently found that and devoured it. Fine. She'd settle for tomato cheese and pickles. It was fine. When she moved over to the bread box, Hermione frowned to discover that while she hadn't been looking, Greyback had evidently left to fetch her something to eat and she scowled in annoyance to think that he might now be able to come and go as he pleased, quiet as a mouse.

When she opened the breadbox, intent of fixing herself that sandwich, because damn it, now she really was getting hungry, Hermione emitted a growl of frustration to discover that in addition to eating all the meat in the house, the hungry werewolf had gobbled up the bread, too.

"Arrgh!" she screeched in annoyance, slamming the box shut once more and scowling at it fiercely for a moment.

Fine. She would just have to go to the grocery store. She knew a place in London that was open all night. Everything would be just fine as soon as she had something to eat, she was sure.


End file.
